Turning Pages: Courage That Writes a Bolder Life
Turn the page fearfully and bravely; every new line makes the story bolder. — Rumi
Fear and Bravery as Companions
At the outset, Rumi’s line holds a fruitful paradox: to turn the page both fearfully and bravely. In Sufi practice, the heart is spacious enough for seeming opposites; courage is not the absence of trembling but the willingness to move while trembling. Rumi’s Masnavi (13th c.) repeatedly invites seekers to step with uncertainty toward the Beloved, trusting that devotion matures in motion, not in certainty. Thus, the next page is not a guarantee—but a gesture.
Writing the Self, Line by Line
From this paradox flows a practical insight: we compose our lives line by line. Narrative psychologists argue that identity is a story under revision; Dan McAdams’s The Stories We Live By (1993) shows how people weave setbacks and hopes into coherent plots. When Rumi says each new line makes the story bolder, he implies that meaning grows through successive choices. Consequently, drafting the next sentence—however tentative—can shift the genre of a life from cautionary to courageous.
The Power of Small, Courageous Moves
To make that shift tangible, tiny acts accumulate courage. The Japanese practice of kaizen (Masaaki Imai, 1986) favors incremental improvements that compound over time. Likewise, exposure techniques in cognitive-behavioral therapy (Beck, 1979) encourage approaching feared situations in manageable steps, letting confidence scaffold itself. In both frames, the page turns with a modest click, not a dramatic flourish—and yet the narrative thickens, chapter by chapter.
Literary and Lived Proofs of Boldness
Literature and history echo this pattern of risk-tested boldness. Charlotte Brontë’s Jane Eyre (1847) advances by choosing unfamiliar work and speaking truth, each decision a new line that deepens her moral voice. Similarly, The Odyssey (c. 8th century BC) shows Odysseus’ story intensify with each trial—from Cyclops to Ithaca—so that return is earned, not given. In lived science, Marie Curie’s persistence in isolating radium (Nobel, 1903) exemplifies page-turning as disciplined experiment, where cautious method and audacious curiosity coexist.
Handling Reversals Without Losing the Plot
Of course, not every page is triumphant; some chapters stall. Writers name this honestly: Anne Lamott’s Bird by Bird (1994) counsels embracing rough drafts, while Samuel Beckett’s Worstward Ho (1983) urges, “Fail again. Fail better.” In this vein, Rumi’s counsel to turn the page fearfully and bravely reframes failure as a turning mechanism. Even when ink blots, moving to the next line prevents the story from hardening into regret.
Rituals That Invite the Next Page
Finally, rituals help the hand keep moving. Julia Cameron’s morning pages in The Artist’s Way (1992) provide a daily, judgment-free turn; time-boxed sessions and “one true sentence” goals (Hemingway, A Moveable Feast, 1964) lower the threshold to begin. Afterward, brief reflection—What became bolder today? What deserves another line tomorrow?—closes the loop. In this steady cadence, fear travels with us, bravery guides us, and, as Rumi promises, the story grows bold.