The Price of Admission

At some point, discomfort stopped feeling like a warning sign and became a compass.

Lately, I’ve been able to pause and reflect a bit to take stock of my life, and what I realized is that the vast majority of the good things in my life started with discomfort. Not excitement, certainly not confidence, and absolutely not a sense of certainty. It’s always been discomfort that quickly gave way to terror and self-doubt. The more I thought about it, that discomfort is truly the price of admission to the life we all strive for.

The problem is that discomfort has an absolutely horrific marketing department, mainly because it rarely shows up looking like opportunity. Instead, it arrives as things we humans try to avoid: fear, uncertainty, vulnerability, and the real possibility of failure. And, because that marketing department is slacking, most of us spend an inordinate amount of energy doing everything we can to avoid it. I’ll be the first to raise my hand and acknowledge that I did.

For much longer than I care to admit, I stayed in lanes where I felt competent, safe, and reasonably in control. Looking back, I realize a lot of that came from a self-esteem issue that I’m not sure I fully understood at the time. The mere thought of betting on myself felt, for lack of a better term, reckless because, candidly, I wasn’t entirely convinced I was worth betting on. Then, July of 2020 happened.

At the height of the pandemic, I resigned from my job at PromoCorner and jumped headfirst into entrepreneurship with brandivate. On paper, it looked insane: the world was crumbling, businesses from every industry were nervous (and not spending), and steady income, which I had, was at a premium. Yet, I chose to walk away anyway. To be clear, there wasn’t some dramatic cinematic moment where inspirational music played, and I suddenly became fearless. While I might have looked confident on the outside, I was scared shitless on the inside.

But I did it anyway, and that decision six years ago absolutely changed my life both professionally and personally. I learned quickly that once I forced myself through something so radically uncomfortable, something truly starts to shift. I realized that discomfort and danger weren’t the same thing, and that lesson kept showing up in other areas of my life.

Well before the beginning of brandivate, I made the intentional decision to be vulnerable through the blogs I write and the various podcasts I’ve hosted through the years. As I look back, that was the genesis of a transformation: I stopped pretending life was a polished highlight reel and started sharing the good, the bad, the scary, the terrifying, and the ugly. That was uncomfortable too, especially in a world where everyone seems desperate to look like they have it all figured out.

I also had to learn emotional discipline. I’m nearly 100% Scottish, which means a few things, such as I’m thrifty, can hold my liquor, and, as it pertains to this blog, I’m hard-wired to have a temper. If something went wrong, I reacted with equal parts velocity and volume. As I wrote last week, over time I realized that not every inconvenience, disagreement, or setback was a personal attack on me. I taught myself to slow down, breathe, and respond instead of react. Like everyone else, I’m a work in progress, which means this didn’t come naturally for me. However, with a lot of practice, some failure, and a ton of introspection, I’m getting there.

The same things happened with running, barbecuing, and graphic design. I’ve ruined plenty of meat, had clients reject artwork, and repeatedly fallen short of running goals. Honestly, those are all good things. I’ve learned more from every failure than I ever did by staying safely within the boundaries I already knew I could do well. That’s the weird thing about growth: it rarely feels good while it’s happening. On the contrary, it’s awkward, frustrating, embarrassing, and humbling.

But forcing myself into uncomfortable situations has paid dividends I couldn’t have imagined just six years ago:

• Higher self-esteem

• Much better health

• Far less stress

• A ton more confidence

• A curiosity and willingness to try new things, even though I might fail

I’m not exactly sure when it happened, but at some point, discomfort stopped feeling like a warning sign and, instead, became a compass. The goal has never been, nor will it ever be, to be fearless. Honestly, I don’t think that’s realistic for anyone. I do, however, think the goal is to stop letting discomfort dictate your decisions.

The life you want, the growth you need, and the person you’re capable of becoming are usually hiding behind the things that scare the hell out of you.