Leaves. The lion hated leaves. He hated their color and their smell. He hated how they tangled in his mane and crunched beneath his feet. He hated their sheer numbers. For as new leaves sprouted on the ancient trees, their old dead ancestors piled up on the forest floor. But most of all the lion hated their voracious appetites. On sunny days, the leaves overhead gobbled up every ray and beam until all that was left to brighten the glade were sickly, green leftovers that drifted down from the canopy’s feast. And on rainy days the leaves that blanketed the ground sucked in every drop and splash, so to quench his thirst, the royal cat was forced to lick the faces and backsides of his detested foes. The lion and the leaves were at war and the leaves were winning. To escape, the lion knew he would have to leave the forest. He would have to venture out into the world, friendless and frightened. And for that, he needed a miracle. Something or someone so extraordinary that he could dust off his battered bravery and step into sunlight untainted by leaves. Inspired by “The Wizard of Oz, Chapter 6 The Cowardly Lion” by L. Frank Baum
I’ve wasted a lot of time being miserable and a lot of energy trying to mend what is hopelessly broken. I’ve squandered years on people who devalue me and bartered away joy for security and acceptance. And even in the realization that my current situation is no longer healthy, no longer feeding my spirit and my soul, my first instinct is to find the fault in myself, believing if I fill up my gaps the rest of my life will fall into place. If only it were that simple.
Empires have been built on self-help schemes that claim getting fit, getting happy and getting rich is only a credit card transaction away. Gurus of every persuasion play on our self-doubts to convince us the good life is as effortless as an attitude adjustment. And even those closest to us smile from the midst of their own challenges and ask, “Have you X-ed? Have you Y-ed? Have you Z-ed?”, needing our answer to be “Oh, yes. All is well. You needn’t worry about me anymore.” And in our heart of hearts, we want easy answers. We want the path to be painless. We want to make lemonade out of the lemons dumped on our doorsteps. But sometimes our life-lemons are so rotten and pulpy that even our best attempts will never produce something sweet. And there comes a day when we have to acknowledge that no amount of tinkering with the recipe is going to fix the bitterness and on that day we have to be brave enough to dump the whole batch. 
Dorothy’s friends in Oz each believed they had a gap to fill, that somehow a vital piece of their make-up had been omitted and, as a result, their lives were meaningless. As privileged observers, we watch the film or read the book and we know the Scarecrow is smart, the Tinman is loving and the Cowardly Lion is really quite brave. But we fail to see those truths when we consider ourselves. To share the grandstand in the Emerald City with the heroes of Oz, we too must leave the cornfield and the forest; we must let our rusted parts be oiled and flexed back into usefulness; and we must accept the possibility of distractions like witches and flying monkeys.
Oz is everywhere and none of us travels the yellow brick road alone. Out of those moments of despair, we have to remind ourselves that wisdom, love and courage have brought us this far and are waiting, even now, for the next call to action. We just have to remember to be brave.
Being Dorothy 