It never ceases to amaze me how many heroes walk past us every day, being dismissed as one of the crowd. There are more heroes passing by us on any given day than rheave eturned from every war ever fought.

Heroism is not those relatively rare acts ocurring in the heat of battle, when bravery and insanity intermingle like wind and dust to create the appearance of a solid existence; heroism is getting up everyday, when the easier thing to do is lie in bed, weighed down by a life not quite able to be lightened by knowledge and wisdom.

I was speaking to Alice (an alias) today, who had been harmed and tormented into keeping quiet about that harm. She, along with others, was part of what can only described as a systematic process of human destruction, carried out by a reputedly trusted servant of society. And still Alice gets up each day and seeks to do the least possible harm.

This is something Alice has been doing for thirty years, so it is not an insignifant thing. It is a protracted act that is intrinsic to her daily life. And yet Alice wears no medals, bears no ribbons and has no accolades associated with her name. Indeed this might be the closest thing Alice has ever had to recognition for that heroism which thrives, despite dark forces seeking to tear it down.

This is what I admire in humans. Not that they are extraordinary in extraordinary circumstances, but they are extraordinary in ordinary circumstances. That to me is true heroism.

Doing the Xmas shopping for your children when your childhood presents were blackened by corrupted expectations. Listening to friends talking about the trauma of the office party when trauma for you means nervous breakdowns and professial treatment. This is heroism. It is the act of seeking to be human when dehumanising things have been visited upon you.

And it is not just about living with trauma. It is about feeding your children on low wages, bearing managerial ingratitude for work well done. It's about smiling when scowling would be understandable.

We might be disturbed if we saw the true energy that was expended in merely getting up to face a day that can leave us exhausted; or going to sleep when we love our life; trusting we will not be taken away from before we can say our goodbyes.

I guess what I am saying is this. Heroism is not what people do; it is what we are. So this Xmas, I take a little time out to say that you need not dream of being a hero. If you get upon Xmas morning and seek to make it well when all is ill; or feel sad as the day fades into another year of daily ordinariness; that is your heroism. It need not be wished for. It is a Christmas Present; as it has been every Christmas past since you graced this planet.

Santa Claus is not our childhood hero: We are his daily heroes. That's why he visits us every year; If not in person; at least in spirit.

It is not important that we believe in him; but that the spritit of christmas believes in us.