Sara Bareilles' "Brave" Proves That Being an Adult Contemporary Hero Is Super Lame

Song: “Brave” by Sara Bareilles, up to the 21st spot after its second week on the Adult Contemporary chart.

What it teaches us about being a contemporary adult: We temper fantasies of valor and bravery because we get real with ourselves.

It’s not immediately clear as to what kind of bravery Sara Bareilles is referring to in her song “Brave.” The lyrics allude to speaking your mind and being honest, which, depending on the situation, is pretty low on the bravery scale. (“Depending on the situation” being very important here. If someone speaks up against a tyrannical and violent government, no shit that’s a high form of bravery. However, you’re not going to get a Medal of Honor for telling your coworker she wears too much perfume.)

The video projects a different kind of bravery. The bravery depicted here is of the free spirited, dance-like-no-one-is-watching variety which, as we can all agree, is the absolute lowest form of bravery. It’s actually so far down the bravery scale that it’s partially submerged into the obnoxiousness spectrum.

There is no worse feeling than being in the vicinity of someone discovering their inner-child and “letting loose.” If you think I’m being a grouch, I pray your next commute is interrupted by an Improv Everywhere flashmob and you have to fight your way through dancing 25-year-olds who replied to a Facebook e-vite.

No, the most clear-cut, unquestionable type of bravery is when a person puts themselves in great peril in order to help another—ideally a stranger. An obvious example is your standard-issue New York subway hero; someone who dives onto the tracks to rescue someone while an oncoming train barrels down upon them. That’s brave any way you slice it.

As children, we spend large parts of our days fantasizing about something outlandishly dangerous occurring. Dinosaur attacks, violent alien invasions, a duo of home invaders who are susceptible to tripwires and marble-covered floors; we created these scenarios in order to put ourselves in the middle of a fantastic problem that only we can solve.

As we get older these types of fantasies still exist, but they are almost always in the context of the real world. We also rein them in lest they turn us into creepy and pathetic narcissists.

When you see a wobbly old lady waiting for the train, images of her tumbling down pop into your head. Remnants of juvenile egotism briefly take over and soon you picture fantasy—you jumping onto the subway tracks to save her. It’s a daydream that ends up with you making the front page of the New York Post. “I did what anyone else in my position would do,” you cooly lie, “My reactions just took over.”

But as fast as it sprung up in your mind, this triumphant fantasy soon gets derailed. Acts of valor are superseded by a series of questions and doubts: Which one is the third rail? Shit, look at those rats down there. Do I really want to die for an old lady? The imagined Post headline morphs from “SUBWAY HERO” to “SUBWAY ZERO WETS PANTS AS OLD GAL GETS FLATTENED.” You breath a sigh of relief once the train arrives and the woman you narrowly had killed in your mind limps on safely.

We don’t dwell on these fantasies because, deep down, we don’t want want the opportunity to not act. It’s a special brand of self-doubt that is manufactured after an internalized hypothetical situation goes through a series of worst-case scenario conceptualizations. We get over ourselves. Our imagined bravery isn’t that important.

This is a good thing because adults who have constant, unchecked fantasies about being the hero are terrifying, criminal idiots. They are the kinds of folks who set up fake robberies in order to win someone’s love or, if they are they are both stupid and unoriginal, they are the people who revert to brash, uninformed vigilantism.

Children are smarter than these grown-ups because they are aware of the expectations placed on them. That is to say, they know adults think they are incapable little nobodies. This is why those fantasies of valor are so powerful to us when we are kids. It’s much needed escapism from the constant belief that you are ineffectual. This all changes when you grow up and are expected to become a competent participant in society. Unless your occupation calls on you to face danger regularly, you have to be okay with the fact that, for the rest of your life, you probably won't be called to spring into action.

The other day I went to see Pacific Rim and upon returning from the restroom I saw a woman struggle as the bottom of her long dress got caught in the teeth of an escalator. I pressed the “emergency stop” button at the base of the escalators and the machinery ground to a halt.

I felt like a brave person despite the various factors disproving my own so-called bravery. For starters, I put myself through zero risk. The worst-case scenario for me was injuring my finger on the button. Secondly, I’m not sure if I even got there in time. The escalator seemed to start its cutoff before the red button fully compressed—the internal shut-off trigger probably just did its job. Still, I was foolish enough to expect some sort of hero’s reception.

There was no cheering. I mean, there were more than enough people gathered in the theater's basement to produce a nice, full-sounding round of applause, but it was silent. Her friends rushed to get help from theater staff and I stood there like a moron. Shouldn’t they be patting me on the back? Her dress was still wedged in the escalator pretty bad so, out of little more than the need for recognition, I asked, “Do you want me to try to rip it out of there?”

“No,” she said, stunned. “I like this dress.”

I responded by doing the most heroic thing the majority of contemporary adults get to do nowadays: I didn't linger and stayed out of someone's business. Somebody call the Post.

Nick Greene is actively listening to adult contemporary on a weekly basis. He's on Twitter — @nickgreene