Friends gather around a table at a local bar. Each are there to wind down from another long day. With each sip and bite, they create distance between themselves and the demands of their shared office, their often exhausting profession. The conversation starts the way it always does. One-by-one telling a story about the drama of their day, laughing at the jokes only people in their job can understand, and then feeling relief when all can commiserate with the daily annoyances. Eventually, the alcohol starts to set in, the fried food silences the stress, and the stories move from venting to divulging. This is the part of the evening where these friends begin to bond over something other than work, in fact, over everything but work. After all, lately their best stories exist in their personal lives. So, they begin to share their moments of embarrassment, invited recklessness, transition, excitement, and sheer abandon. Stories of the secrets of their past, one and more night stands, dating, and the spectrum that exists between the thrill of singlehood and true commitment. For me, this is when that voice in my head starts to speak up.

I am not a stranger to these situations or conversations. I am often the one who can make a table laugh, and am never shy about pointing out the hilarity in the simplest thing. But, there tends to be a point in the conversation when I no longer have a story to contribute, and that usually occurs about the time we discuss putting ourselves out there.

Dating. It is one of life’s true tests. It’s one of the arenas where we see whether all our training to become a certain person proves successful. This arena implies certain expectations and we all fall victim to the demand. We wear what we can to hide the flaws and accentuate the flawless. We strive to display our endearing qualities while storing away our specific kind of crazy. And, we decide where we are going to set the bar and who we are going to allow to clear it based on what we perceive to be our own self worth. This is where we must be brave. We expose ourselves figuratively and often literally, and allow another to determine what is likable and what is not. We face rejection head on, and if we collide, we face the terrorizing consequences. The bravest know how to deflect this terror. They can avoid the immediate urge to cover themselves, leave the arena, and never enter again. Others deploy various tactics to self protect. And there are some who give up entirely.

It’s around a table in a bar with a bunch of friends that one often gets to hear how others handle themselves in this arena. And it’s after the sips of beer and bites of fried food that some may begin to reflect on their own skills in this particular battle. So, what happens when you are the one reflecting, and when that reflection reveals the fact that you aren’t in the arena?

I don’t think it’s uncommon to remove yourself from various arenas in life when you lose faith that you can survive in them. I think it’s natural. We are built to survive, and sometimes that survival mechanism effects removing ourselves from threatening situations. However, if we allow this belief that we cannot survive to always consume the possibility that we can, we are left with removing ourselves not only from the bad, but from all the good. We are left with living life as a spectator, often falling silent when the conversation turns to stories of glorious battles and well-worth-it wounds. We are left without stories to share.

Theodore Roosevelt apparently figured this out long ago and employed people to live in the arena. His famous “man in the arena” quote, although surely meant for greater battles than simple dating, is one that comes to mind when I’m faced with the daunting decision about where to stand.

It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiams, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.

This quote gives the visual of a true gladiator, one who is deserving of respect and awe instead of criticism and judgment. Is the dating arena this grandiose? I don’t know. But, I do think there is something to be said about putting oneself out there. There is something to respect about the decision to live life available. Or, just the bravery necessary to allow possibilities, even if some might sting.

I don’t know what it will take to get myself back in the arena, but I do know I’m going to figure it out. Because I want the dust on my face. I want to know great enthusiams and great devotions. I want to spend myself in a worthy cause. And, if I fail, I want to fail daring greatly at all things.

For those who are with me, let us find a way back into all the arenas of life. For, this is where we earn our battle wounds and the stories that follow. This is where we experience excitement and abandon. This is where we feel the rush of living life. And living in this spot will ensure that silence never befalls a night around a table with friends.