Let’s take our bravery back

“Think we’ll die today?”

“Probably. Love you, man.” He takes a swig. “Oh, and I’m the one who pantsed you last month. Sorry.”

It was the 17th century. Many of these soldiers, coughing on smoke and marching on aching feet to the front lines to face cannons and gunfire, wouldn’t return home alive.

So they drank a healthy dose of gin to soothe their nerves and boost their confidence.

They called it liquid courage, and that’s the name that stuck.

It’s on the menu in big, black letters: liquid courage. A massive list of smaller words underneath: Bourbon bravery. Vodka valor. Liquor luck.

There was a promise being made here: You can buy courage by the ounce.

That’s the lie we’re fed, and it’s keeping about 63% of American adults and 3 billion more worldwide from developing their true courage. Growing into their strongest selves.

It was 10 p.m., dark, and I was one-and-a-half hours past my bedtime.

After spending 20 minutes walking around downtown trying to get $5 in cash — from an ATM, I couldn’t find a pimp anywhere — for the entry fee, I walked in.

The karaoke bar was loud, playing my jam: Bohemian Rhapsody by Queen.

Immediately, I felt less lonely. Like I belonged.

I’d spent the last year working every day and taking long, hot showers.

Having long conversations with my previous friends and writing partners in my head.

Enjoying breakfasts, board game nights, and movie-watching cuddling with my husband and wife. I’m not married.

I was lonely.

Despite my intense love for being alone, I was feeling intensely alone.

I could feel it everywhere, like tiny black holes. Insatiable leeches with a million stomachs.

I’d reached my loneliness limit months ago.

So, I bopped along, singing loudly under my mask.

My tribe. A bunch of people who loved singing badly in a microphone just like I did. Except most of ’em sounded amazing.

Belting out Whitney, Adele.

A cute, shy Indian guy rapping to Kendrick Lamar while his wife recorded him. He stared at her to get courage, and she stared back, looking so proud.

I can’t wait to have that type of connection. So beautiful.

But what had the karaoke world come to when 90% of the singers sounded like professionals?

Groups of people sat at tables, glasses littering the space in front of them. A long table in front of the bar nursed tons of people’s clear, blue, and yellow drinks.

Small prisons trimming our flight wings. So gentle we don’t even notice.

Drink culture is everywhere, as common as Irish Stew in Ireland and death-by-bullet in America.

Liquid courage flows in, but bravery doesn’t flow out.

Mouths gaped open, the audience yelled the lyrics. A few people danced. Vibin’ off each other’s energy.

We hadn’t forgotten how to connect. We just needed something more stimulating than our phones.

Gettin’ up on a stage, being half-blinded by bright lights, massacring our favorite song’s lyrics, and being judged by how good or bad we did was more than enough.

We needed to be terrified into living.

Like the loud, cute guy next to me was. He was bubbling with joy, nerves, low self-esteem, and fun. He was surrounded by friends and kept screaming, “I love this song!” to every song.

Smiling. Glancing around. Singing along. Turning on his phone’s flashlight to wave it from side to side with the other people.

I don’t know if he was a Mary Poppins or Nutty Professor drunk, but he loved karaoke — and he was terrified of being judged. And being alone.

Liquid courage was his wingman, making sure he didn’t have to deal with his fear. That was the problem.

One reason people need liquid courage

We struggle to feel worthy. When we spend so much time feeling like we’re not good enough, we start to look outside ourselves.

And alcohol can be that friend that’s always available.

Pop some bubbly. Pop some more bubbly. Get a dopamine boost and feel invincible for a while — until our friend gets tired and leaves without telling us.

But still, we keep inviting their semi-unreliable ass back. Want more of the confidence they give. It feels good. Easy.

But when we’re leaning on alcohol’s confidence, bravery, and relief, we don’t find our own.

And so we spend our lives missing out on all the power inside us.

The karaoke place was packed.

Lots of young people surrounded me. The undermining of our courage starts at 21 in the US and 13 in Burkina Faso.

It’s not bravery if the courage isn't in our control.

We get tricked into becoming cowards and help our friends become cowards. And our natural courage dies as we drink it into a tipsy, stumbling mess.

It was about midnight. The scared guy went up on stage with his friends. Three people, one song. They’d been drinking too.

He stood in the middle — in a nice suit. Most everyone at the karaoke bar had on nice clothes.

Makeup, gelled hair.

I’m not sure why it mattered to look good on the stage; it was about our singing voices. But I guess it’s a full-package experience.

Like being an up-and-coming rockstar singing at bars until you get your break.

On the stage, the well-dressed man’s voice was soft; I didn’t hear it apart from his friends, though they had separate mics.

Even with liquid courage, he was still nervous. I see now that he used some of his true courage. * happy dance for him *

But, most likely, with how much he was drinking, he wouldn’t remember he had by the morning.

And so, the next time I go to karaoke, I’ll probably see him again — just as scared, just as much in love with the experience, and drinking to push his fear away.

Because that’s his norm. Our society’s norm. And its harmful.

We deserve better.

Three ways to love yourself more

Learnin’ to see yourself in a brighter light takes practice to rewire the negative thoughts you’ve been used to. Here’s a couple ways to start:

Shift your perspective on your flaws and accept them

Try writin’ down all your perceived flaws, then five reasons why each of them is beneficial to you.

This list will be big and so positive.

After that, write down how you came to believe these are bad things about you. Who told you this.

When that’s done, think hard about why those people, including yourself, are morons.

Create a voice inside yourself that’s full of faith and self-compassion

Spend some time creating a persona. It could be a supportive friend or parent. Or someone else wise.

I have an eight-year-old, a monk, and my 40-, 50-, and 80-year-old selves.

Whoever this person is in your mind, make them your biggest cheerleader — for things you should and shouldn’t do.

For instance, if you’re in a toxic relationship, your friend’s gonna urge you to get out. Or go for that new job. Or start traveling.

Because you deserve happiness.

Forgive yourself for mistakes you’ve made

Use them as lessons, not punishments. The past is stone. It doesn’t change.

I revisit it too much, but no matter how many times I do, it never changes.

So, I try to see it as a curriculum. Be a student. And be better with the knowledge I learn.

Eventually, I’ve started enjoying the present more.

Now, what you’ve really been waiting for

Here’s some tips to do better at karaoke:

Choose a song you know, not like.

I didn’t know there were karaoke rules, and I’m gonna sing whatever I want, but still, if you’re super nervous — and going without alcohol to boost your natural courage — pick a song you’re familiar with.

If all you know is the chorus, practice the other parts beforehand. Read the lyrics before it’s your turn.

The chorus is amazing, but we all *cough, cough * know how much of the song they are. Ha, ha!

Drink water

Liquid courage isn’t courage; it’ll get you used to false bravery, and that won’t do you any good. So if you’re freaked, try singing a duet or group song.

Bust out a pop song tons of people’ll know. The crowd will be so pumped they’ll sing over you. Really, really, really loudly.

Don’t sing a slow ballad

Choose upbeat songs and popular crowd-pleasers if you’re new to karaoke or nervous.

I didn’t follow this advice, and I won’t, but it is a great tip. I go to karaoke to have fun, so I’m gonna sing what I want.

This time, I wasn’t nervous singing Jealous by Labrinth (I’ve been hecka nervous before), but I did butcher the lyrics and flow.

I’m okay with that. I love this song. Maybe you’ll enjoy it too.

Alternatives to alcohol

I don’t drink alcohol, so I don’t speak from experience of liquid courage, but I can say that liquid courage is an illusion, and an illusion doesn’t COMPARE to the real thing — our natural courage, bravery, and resiliency. Not even close.

There’s a self-confidence, a love for yourself, and an undeniable strength that grows when you live life sober. Flirt sober. Sing sober. Get rejected sober. Socialize sober.

So, here’s some ways to get the sensory experiences of alcohol without the alcohol:

• ​Spiritless​
• ​Strykk​
• ​Drink Surely — non-alcoholic drinks​
• ​Tips for socializing without alcohol​
• ​Ways to relax without alcohol​

So many more options are available.

We have wings

And it’s our responsibility to make sure nothing and no one clips them.

We don’t have forever to keep learning how to fly. Forgetting how to soar.

So, we gotta take that leap with only the wind and our courage to hold us up.

Your Turn

What are some experiences you’ve enjoyed without liquid courage? How does it feel when you face something you’ve been afraid of?

The power is yours; it always has been.

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