Discomfort feels like I’m in the middle of cleaning my storage unit. It’s a hot mess, there’s shit everywhere, and a lot of it I’m not even sure I want to hang onto, but I know that in a couple of hours it’s going to get better. And it always is.
When I consider my level of discomfort now I remember the most uncomfortable I’ve ever felt. It was six years ago, and I was lying on the couch with an iced, elevated broken ankle, unable to do…pretty much anything–we didn’t even have a TV at the time–…and watching as the house kitchen counter became more and more cluttered, and the dust bunnies procreated. And there was nothing I could do about it. I had to just sit there and tolerate it. It was the epitome of sitting with discomfort.
No matter how uncomfortable I am now in this space of not knowing and being open to what’s next I comfort myself with the knowing that this is not as uncomfortable as that was.
There is a different kind of discomfort in examining things that I always thought were true, whether it was something I was taught to believe as a child or a way of existing, a way of being. I remember when I realized that I spent much of my life focused on milestones instead of being and living. I couldn’t wait until summer when the kids would be out of school, and the schedule would be less rigid. Maybe then we could have more unstructured time to spend as a family. But a few weeks in I found myself longing for fall when there would be more of a routine, and I wouldn’t have to worry about summer activities for the kids. Then, maybe, I’d be able to focus on my own priorities. But not until after the holidays because I needed to start planning.
There was this mentality that when certain things are achieved, then other things could happen, but not until then.
Does that resonate with you?
Of course, if you’re like me, you believed that you couldn’t wear certain things–like white pants–or participate in certain activities–like swimming–until you were at your ideal goal weight.
In 2011 I wrote a whole blog post about when I first allowed myself to wear white pants even though I was–still am–a size 12. You can read it here.
The result of this thinking, for me, was that I got stuck because I never allowed myself to do things. I kept myself in my own little self-locking box.
It feels like I’m continually asking myself: Who makes these rules? And why do I continue to still follow them?
I explore how I’m dealing with sitting with the discomfort of not knowing and how I find some ease with this discomfort in episode 8 of the podcast which you can find here.
Life’s short: Lick the ice sculpture
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