It's not bad just because it's not good

Finding comfort in discomfort

I moved to South Africa from Sweden in January. Left the padded comfort of a socialized system with its free schooling and safe streets, its cinnamon buns and hybrid cars and trains on time and incredibly affordable dentistry for the common folk. Passed up the thought of taking my kids to explore the identity attached to their “other” passport, swapping swift Scandinavia for sunny California, and instead brought us all to the southern tip of Africa.

It’s been a trip of the greatest kind

In the five months since our arrival, I have grown and learned and evolved and changed and expanded. At the speed of light, frankly speaking. And all of it – the decision-making and stimuli-integrating and sun-soaking and culture-shocking – has been full of feeling. Big, fat, massive, wild, exciting, happy, glorious, uneasy, icky feeling. Motha-effer kind of feeling, on quite a fair few occasions. As in get-me-the-hell-out-of-here feeling. Discomfort on overdrive.

And then this very morning, between French toast and ass out the door, my son taught me a fine lesson in the art of discomfort. How? By reminding me of the dichotomy between what we expect our children to accept as part of their unavoidable upbringing and what we expect our adult selves to accept as part of our undeniable maturity. He was explaining the logistics of his “side hustle” project in 7^th grade, in which he had to document and present his process of collecting vegetables from the garden and selling them on campus. This was really out of his comfort zone. He had to stand on center stage and be seen. He had to walk others through his internal process. He had to explain himself. He had to sit down and do the work, rather than kicking a ball against the cupboard door or drinking peach ice tea or playing FIFA 23. OMG, the horror!

Well then, how did we – his well-intentioned, very loving, totally devoted, extremely understanding parents – comfort him? We pulled his sleep-heavy body out the door and told him to photograph the garden. It was all there – all he had to do was capture it. The lemon tree was waiting up there, with its heavy fruit and concrete proof. Easy-peasy lemon squeezy. This was no biggie. No big stretch out of his comfort zone. Come on, dude. Just do it, you weiner.

And comfort zones? Those are for losers anyhow.

Or are they?

I think of myself. The invitations I receive and ward off in the politest of terms. The headaches my body creates to save me from weirdo situations. The imaginary aches and pains that keep me off the field at school sports day. The “oh, I would love to go dancing but just not today. You know, the kids/the weather/my work/my heavily fortified cache of excuses are making it impossible for me to do that thing.” The immense, intense moments of discomfort I have experienced in the past 5 months. And my knee-jerk impulse to hide under the covers. To only find that the covers were cold because it’s late autumn when it’s supposed to be early summer. Man oh man, get me back in my COMFORT ZONE!

I am an adult, after all. I can make my own decisions, thank you very much. I know what’s best for me.

Or do I?

As adults, we quite often think that if something feels wrong, it is wrong. If something feels bad, then it is… bad. Simple. Your instinct says, “yuck,” and you follow suit by turning the other way. Solid proof of knowing thyself. Trusting your gut is all about reaching for what feels right, right? Knowing yourself is all about making sure you’re always feeling good and comfortable. That when something feels weird or wrong or bad or uncomfortable or out-of-the-ordinary or icky, then that thing is to be avoided. At all costs.

But you know what? The more I spend my days in Africa and begin carving out the semblance of a life in the southern hemisphere, the more I’m learning that discomfort is the very benchmark of learning. Within that discomfort zone, true growth happens. The kind of growth the soul is hungry for.

We know this in theory. Our social feeds are swamped with well-intentioned quotes about pain being a catalyst for growth and the dark days giving way to the light. But I’m here to say:

It’s time to get deep down and dirty with the nitty gritty of it.

What I’m talking about here is all of it. Big-ass life transitional discomfort, like someone dying or a major relationship ending or disease striking. AND the itty-bitty everyday stuff. The person you recognize there on the other side of the cafe, and that small voice in your head says, “go say hello.” That sort of discomfort. Standing up and reaching outside of the familiar. Crossing the road and walking over there for a change, bumping into something unexpected. Going for that meeting even though you wake up feeling like shit. That shit feeling is actually nothing more than your well-trained defence system informed by your subconscious mind. (But I’ll save that for another time.)

Don’t trust discomfort as a signal to say NO.

Try YES from time to time.

Or just try it on for size in your mind. Imagine yourself going to the dance class (and then go!). Raise your hand and ask a question in front of everyone. Order something new off the menu. Do something “wrong” and different than you always do and love yourself for it. Move to Africa and let all the feels lead you through the thicket and into the clearing. Where your next greatest steps await.

Because thanks to my son and his lemon tree growing pains, I'm learning that discomfort is a sure-fire invitation to grow. To let even more of the good stuff into our lives. That icky feeling is often just your body’s way of saying, “Hey, I’m trying to grow over here. Stop getting in my way. You tell me you want things to be bigger and better and greater in your life, and then you keep on pushing me down, telling me to stay how I am. Get your ducks in a row or else I’m caving in. And that, my dear, will really be uncomfortable.”

So loves, you know what I’m saying. I’d bet you could name 3 discomforting things in your life right now. At this very moment. Little things, middle things, and big-ol’ humdinger things. If you call them gifts all wrapped in invisible gold rather than nasty buggers needing to be avoided, life starts to get a whole lot sweeter. And even autumn belongs in the month of May for Sarah from the northern hemisphere.

I’m loving you through it all,
Sarah ❤️