I eased the door of my apartment open, the mad percussion of the downpour reaching full volume in my ears. I stood there for a moment, in the way we all do before heading into the storm; my hood tied tightly, my chest lifted from a deep, preparatory breath. I was steeling myself, eyeing the driest path, taking the time to fully accept that I was leaving my warm, cozy apartment for the wet and windy world outside. I scurried to my car, the fog creeping up my windshield as I plunked myself down into the driver’s seat. As I sat in my little puddle, I realized that I’ve been in the middle of that deep, preparatory breath for the last four years. I’m on the threshold… and apparently, I don’t want to get wet. I’m taking that as a sign that it’s time to get uncomfortable. It’s been a while since I’ve pushed my boundaries or tried something new, so I’ve just booked my first solo trip in 8 years (paid completely with points!) and have put in inquiries about an intriguing herbal medicine workshop here at home. As of late, my crafty, talented friends have inspired me to rediscover/find my inner crafter (if she exists). Who knows, I might try and dig out my old knitting needles, although I’m pretty sure the skills that earned me my knitting badge in Girl Guides have long since dried up! I guess you wouldn’t necessarily term those things as “uncomfortable,” but for me, the “discomfort zone” encompasses any experience outside of your “wheelhouse,” the very specific list of things you think you know and are good at (so you keep on doing them and nothing else). These experiences can be as small as trying a new type of food or taking a different route to work. It’s about bringing the newness and excitement of traveling and discovering a new place into your everyday life. I believe that those little discoveries ultimately lead to the broader answers we seek. And so, I’m ready to release my preparatory breath and make the mad dash into my discomfort zone. After all, it’s the only way to get to the warm and cozy place on the other side.
On a more sombre note, I realize that my rainy metaphor for reflection coincides with the devastating flooding that is happening in Alberta. I have fond memories of that province, especially living and hiking along the Bow River and surrounding area. My thoughts and love are with those who have been affected.