My friend recently chose to follow her heart; it led her into uncharted territory.

Since then, she has suffered the woes of all great adventurers who confront, not only their own fears, but the whispers of the fearful.

Humans, by nature, crave routine and comfort. Change frightens them. Darkness repeals them. They like it when things stay the same.

Monday is Tuesday is Wednesday is Thursday is Friday. Saturday is for chores, Sunday for church.

When someone breaks the monotony, runs for the woods and seeks a new truth, it understandably upsets them. It cracks the veneer of their practiced existence.

First, they warn the rebel: "Stop. Don't go. Danger. Come back."

Then, they hope for failure. Nothing would make them happier than to see the rebel return, head hung low, ready to reassume the routine.

But, if instead, peels of laugher ring from beyond the tree line, a seed of doubt will plant itself in the humans' hearts. Doubt soon grows into fear.

"Maybe there is another truth ... ."

The thought bubbles up from the depths before being squashed with hate. And with conspiratorial whispers among those who stayed safe.

So my friend struggles now with a choice: Does she risk losing the support network that heretofore buoyed her existence? Or does she bid it adieu for a dark but beautiful path of immense joy and intense pain?

It's a tough call. And I wouldn't blame her either way. As I told her last week, her mere presence at this crossroads means she dared entered the woods. It means she followed her heart - even if only this far. And it means she has tasted adventure.

A new seed now grows within her, too. Not one of doubt, but one of truth. She knows there's more to life than a good job, a good mate and a house with a white picket fence.

Whatever her ultimate choice, she'll never really return. Something within her will always know more.

For that she is brave.

Deep down, I think we're all brave. I think we're all capable of pushing through fear and doubt and the whispers of others to taste our own sweet truth. It's hard and lonely, but it's also real.

Nothing says "I'm alive" like a little risk.

Some people, like my friend, take the plunge at the heart's urging. Others won't do it until they first see it can be done by someone else.

In that second case, I sure hope a few among the whispering crowd are taking note of my friend, adventurer that she is.

Contact Emily Le Coz at (662) 78-1588 or emily.lecoz@djournal.com.