TGIF :: Kid Wisdom on Discomfort as an Invitation

#59 || Moving through it to grow.

I attended a lengthy eighth grade graduation ceremony yesterday, surrounded by a couple hundred parents, grandparents, and siblings, all of us sitting in uncomfortable folding chairs under a rented tent.

I was alone—not because my family doesn’t care about our graduate, but because I didn’t have a graduate. Upon learning parents of all other grades weren’t really expected to attend, I used my seventh grader’s mandatory attendance as a member of the Upper School Band as my excuse to be present.

Odd, I know. But my son told me that each of the 28 graduating kids would be making a brief speech, and I love kid wisdom. Seriously. Little did I know I’d actually pull a notebook out of my purse at one point and take notes. I know.

Get comfortable with being uncomfortable.

As each kid offered their 3-5 minute speech, each well rehearsed, with relative ease, and most with a perfect balance of sentiment and humor, several themes emerged:

1. You can never be too kind.

2. Don’t be afraid to try new things.

3. Be yourself.

4. My personal favorite: Don’t avoid discomfort, it’s how we grow.

One kid concluded with this advice for the younger kids in the audience:

Several personal stories highlighted the rewards of stepping out of one’s comfort zone. Some kids tried new sports to discover they were naturals. Others talked about the awkwardness of making new friends upon transferring as the “new kid” at school. Whether it was overcoming self-consciousness, learning a new skill, or just trying something different, many spoke to the benefits of embracing the challenge of being a beginner—at anything.

Flashback to 1988

I tried to remember my own eighth grade. What did I look like? (Oy, that hair!) How did I dress? (We didn’t wear dresses that short, ever, right!?) Could I have spoken like that, alone at a podium, as eloquently as each of these kids did? (No way.)

As the speeches carried on, I dug deeper, trying to remember how I felt at that age. I entered eighth grade fairly naive, still kid-like, but by high school, I was fully immersed in the awkwardness of adolescence. One of my clearest memories from that year was discovering a new and crippling self-consciousness while auditioning for The Eighth Grade Play.

I’d been dreaming about being part of this play since kindergarten. I knew the part I wanted. I had my few lines memorized after rehearsing alone in my bedroom for days. When my name was called, I walked up to the microphone in our upper school auditorium. The dimmed lights cast a gentle glow, and I gazed out to see the expectant faces of my entire class, watching.

When I tried to speak my lines, my voice failed me. I tried and tried again, but nothing came out. It was as if I was frozen. I remember the heat of the overhead spotlights on my face and chest, and the echo of a cough or two as the moments painfully dragged on. Someone offered me a sip of water, which I accepted. I tried again—still nothing. Shaking and starting to sweat, I stammered out a few words before giving up. I went back to my seat.

I (of course) didn’t get the part I wanted—or any part for that matter. Instead of participating in rehearsals and other preparations for a play that consumed our grade’s schedule for the last month of school, I shadowed the entire affair and did my best to blend in, seem busy, be invisible. This experience of shame, embarrassment, and confusion evolved into a secret fear of speaking in front of others that stuck with me for years.

A (Mini) Dimmer

That was 1988. I managed to avoid public speaking all the way up until 2000. This time it was before a panel of federal judges in San Francisco as part of Moot Court while attending law school. About ten minutes before my intensely rehearsed presentation, I went to the ladies room and downed a Smirnoff Mini I’d picked up at the liquor store a few days before, just in case. I was barely even drinking then—I had just learned somewhere along the way (from my mom? the movies?) that a shot of vodka can “take the edge off” when needed—without the scent of other hard booze.

What a poetic beginning of a legal career characterized by a lot of discomfort, some of which I moved through and grew from—but some of which I also habitually dimmed out.

Discomfort & ClearLife

Developing a healthy relationship with discomfort is part of most ClearLife journeys. Most of us start some dimming behavior (drinking, snark, perfectionism, excessive work/sex/spending/eating, etc.) to relieve our discomfort. When we stop the dimming (ironically, often because the consequences of the habitual dimming get uncomfortable!), we feel more—both the pleasant and the difficult.

Often, discomfort is inner wisdom trying to guide us: Maybe this isn’t a good idea… Yet, it can also be an invitation: Let’s try something new…

Discomfort often accompanies stepping out of any inauthenticity and into our truth. As we peel back our armor, we’re more vulnerable, exposed. It is from this place where we can more deeply connect with others. And grow.

Naked

This week’s Undimmed podcast guest Kamelle texted me after hearing his episode “Living in Fuchsia” live for the first time:

“I feel naked, but in a good way.”

As we discussed in our recorded conversation, Kamelle’s story reflects a journey many of us share: years of hiding our true selves. Undimmed, he is open, unprotected, and raw—and now sharing his story publicly! This vulnerability can make us feel exposed for the first time since we began concealing our true selves. It's why so many of us need to relearn certain skills once we shed our protective armor. Going to a party, attending a professional dinner, or going on a date becomes a brand new experience when we do from a place of true authenticity—and vulnerability.

Keep going.

As the graduates cycled through their speeches yesterday, this theme of moving through discomfort continued to come up. Time and time again, these emerging adults shared what they’ve learned:

“The more I did the difficult thing, the easier it was to do.”

“I used to be scared to try new things, but now I know that I grow when I do.”

“If I had stuck with the easy path, I wouldn’t have discovered what I did.”

“If I’d stayed in my comfort zone, I wouldn’t be who I am today.”

I was reminded of a one of my favorite sayings, author unknown (but said in our home frequently):

If we do what’s easy, life gets hard.
If we do what’s hard, life gets easy.

Two Practices for Moving Through Discomfort

1. Gentle Curious Awareness. Notice discomfort when it arises. Develop a gentle awareness around it. Verbalize it to yourself (or out loud): “Oh, there is that sensation of discomfort again. Why? Where do I feel it in my body? Is it more or less intense than the last time I experienced it? What triggered the sensation this time?” And so on.

2. Repetitive Practice. If the goal is to move through and overcome discomfort with a new experience, practice helps. For those overcoming drinking or other dimming habits, the list of things to try without a dimmer might be long: attending social gatherings, going to a bar, initiating sex. Yet each time we manage to do the thing without the dimmer, the discomfort should diminish.

About that Public Speaking….

A couple of years after that Moot Court experience, I saw my friend Chad speak on a professional panel. Eloquent and casual as he shared his expertise and perspective with attendees, I was in awe. I desperately wanted to have that skill as I started my own legal+ career. I was committed to overcoming my phobia somehow.

Following a mentor’s advice, I volunteered for several public speaking opportunities. I spoke on panels at conferences, ran educational seminars at work, and became an adjunct professor at my law school—a role I held for twelve years. Each time I took the mic or stepped up to a podium, I’d been nervous for hours. My voice would quiver, my heart would pound, and my body tighten. But over time, it got a little easier—then a lot easier, maybe even fun.

Though I still get shaken occasionally, my uneasiness with public speaking is nothing like it was in the past. Today, so much of what I get to do in living out my passions (the podcast, interviewing people on stages, speaking up in policy gatherings, and more) hinges on this ability to stand up and say something, comfortable or not.

New Growth Edges

What makes us uncomfortable? Are these signals invitations to grow? If there’s so much energy around something, maybe we should pay attention.

For me, several inviting edges come to mind: Attending big networking events alone. Asking people for favors. Talking with someone who’s name I should remember, and don’t. Setting boundaries. I’m still exploring these. What’s beneath them? Does practice make them easier? What would life look like if I was able to move through them?

The invitation of today is to notice these areas of discomfort in our lives. Develop a curious awareness around them. If we want to move through them, practice.

Repeat.

Notice.

Cheers to feeling naked, in a good way :)

Love. ❤️

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Miscellaneous…

I’d love to hear your stories and questions…. Our podcast audience might too! I’ve opened up a line to receive your voice memos via text: 415-326-6059. Please indicate (1) whether you are okay with my using this in the Undimmed Podcast if I’m inclined and (2) whether I should use your name or note it as anonymous (both are fine). (Basic iOS instructions here and Android instructions here.)

Two Sangha Saturdays coming up…! Tomorrow, June 8th, at 9a (via zoom) and next Saturday June 15th, at 9a in person in Mill Valley. Please indicate your interest via the form link here and you’ll be added to the invitation(s).