Just between us, it's not so hard to be brave when one is in constant motion. And, frankly, if one is engaged in an inherently badass activity, nobody--or at least, very few bodies--bothers to question if the person engaged in that activity is actually a badass themselves. Something like a harebrained cross-country solo drive results in what is, effectively, the transitive property of badassery and a girl benefits from the assumptions carried over there.
It's being brave at home that is the real ass-kicker. One has to be brave while opening yet another late medical bill addressed to somebody who can't open his mail any more. One must have courage when realizing that to make a reasonable amount of food, a recipe has to be altered, and that means figuring out how to divide two eggs in order to make a 1/3 batch. Only tenacity (and maybe a six-pack of ciders) will carry you through sorting through 22 boxes of history books. It requires fortitude to sit down to watch football, and realize that one may not actually like watching football; that maybe that was just something you used to do together to signify "Sunday." It requires a stalwart soul to decide to replace the old music on somebody's iPod with the music you like to dance to, knowing that you're going to be dancing alone. And when person after person tells you that you must be feeling just terrible, it takes some real pluck and mettle to be comfortable with the fact that you're actually doing pretty okay; and that doing pretty okay does not make you a bad person, but a resilient one.
Sure, it requires a certain kind of bravado to drive into the unknown every day, literally setting out on an unknown path like some sort of latter-day Don Quixote whose Rocinante has a v-6 engine and a bluetooth sound system. But only the truly stout of heart can face the terrors of replacing the refrigerator with valor; and finding enough tupperware for all this damn soup takes nothing less than true moxie. It can make a girl long for a little 7600 mile drive.