The kind of Courage that Doesn't Get Noticed

Courage is often talked about as something bold and visible. We picture big moments, decisive actions, or standing firm in the face of something obvious and immediate. But most of the courage I’ve seen in life doesn’t look like that at all. It’s much quieter, and because of that, it often goes unnoticed—even by the person showing it.

I remember well when my Son-In-Law asked me for permission to marry my oldest daughter. I had gotten to know him fairly well before that. For just an instant, I was going to give him a bit of a hard time, but I could see how nervous he was and quickly decided maybe now is not the time to joke with him. He had gotten up the courage to ask me, and that for me was enough pressure on him.

Real courage shows up even in the small decisions that don’t draw attention. It’s the moment you choose not to respond in anger when everything in you wants to. It’s admitting you were wrong without trying to soften it or shift the blame. It’s sitting with something uncomfortable long enough to understand it instead of pushing it away or covering it over with distraction.

I’ve noticed that courage and honesty tend to walk together. Not honesty directed outward, where we explain or defend ourselves, but the kind that turns inward. The willingness to see something in ourselves that we might not like. That takes a different kind of strength. There’s no applause for it, no recognition, and no one else may even know it happened.

Over the years, I’ve seen people take great risks outwardly while still avoiding this quieter form of courage. They’ll change jobs, move across the country, or take on big projects, but hesitate when it comes to looking at their own patterns, their own reactions, or the stories they’ve been carrying for years. In some ways, that inward step can be the harder one.

On the farm, courage wasn’t something we talked about, but it was there. It showed up in getting back to work after something didn’t go right. Climbing way up the chute of a silo half full when the silo unloader cable got stuck close to the top, while winching it up at my cousin’s place, onto it to use a come-along to put the cable back on the pulley of a 3-cable system. It also shows up in deciding without having all the answers and then standing by it. It showed up in continuing when you were tired, not because anyone was watching, but because the work needed to be done.

When I bought my used Powered Parachute, I could not find someone to train me, so I trained myself. I could only go up for 10 minutes at a time so my heart could slow down. Eventually, I was able to fly it with more confidence. i am not sure if this realy was courage, or stupidity.

There’s also a kind of courage in letting go. Letting go of the need to be right. Letting go of old stories that no longer fit. Letting go of the image we’ve built of ourselves when it starts to feel more like a weight than something real. The King in us doesn’t like this part. He prefers to hold on, to defend, to maintain his position. But courage often asks us to loosen our grip instead.

What I’ve come to see is that courage isn’t about becoming something more. It’s about being willing to see clearly and act from that place, even when it’s uncomfortable. It’s not loud, and it doesn’t announce itself. But over time, it changes the direction of a life in ways that nothing else really can.

And most of the time, no one else will notice it happening. But you will.