The Year of Discomfort

New Years resolutions don’t really mean much to me. Everyone seems to make these grand, sweeping declarations like “I’m going to get into shape!” or “I’m going to live in the moment!” without any practical ways to do it. I am just as guilty, of course.

Past resolutions have been items like “visit 10 new countries in the next year,” which is expensive and doesn’t suit my travel style. Or “get published in a major travel magazine.” If it was that easy, everyone would do it! That’s not to say I’m not still working towards that, though.

But this year, I chose a word rather than a list of items I wanted to accomplish. If you read my yearly birthday lists, you know that it’s usually hit or miss in terms of what gets crossed off in twelve months. One word is not necessarily easier to accomplish, but gave me a reminder of what to focus on. It was discomfort.

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This doesn’t mean doing things I hate. Because I’ve talked about that before. I don’t want to do something I will loathe just because it’s the “thing to do.” Like the Full Moon Party or massive music festivals or pretty much all nightclubs. It’s not about doing something you genuinely won’t enjoy but feel obligated to do.

Discomfort is, to me, about recognizing why something makes you uncomfortable and doing it anyways because it will propel you forward. For someone with introversion, social anxiety and all-around awkwardness, most of the situations that bring me discomfort come when interacting with strangers.

I’m terrible at talking about myself and find those “getting to know you” conversations to be miserable and tedious. It doesn’t matter how nice someone is or how much we might have in common, most of the time I’m just thinking about how long until I can leave. But putting myself in these uncomfortable situations, I give myself a form of immersion therapy. In the words of the wise Joey Tribbianni,

…You face your fears the same as anything else. You’ve got a fear of heights, you go to the top of the building. You’ve got a fear of bugs, get a bug. In your case, you’ve got a fear of commitment so you go in there and be the most committed guy there was!

Friends

My 2016 social experiment started with a camping trip. If you haven’t guessed by the name of this blog, I am much more comfortable in thriving metropolises than in the middle of the woods. My sister, however, is the total opposite. She lives in the mountains of North Carolina, a former backpacking guide, and in lieu of other plans, I went to see her to ring in the New Year. She provided me with everything I would need, so I didn’t have to worry much, but of course I did. I’d read stories of bear attacks and beginner hikers getting lost and never found.

My water bottle sloshed against my backpack, back and forth like a pendulum as I trudged the one mile to our campsite, trying my best not to slip and fall. It didn’t seem so far in theory, especially for someone who has run half marathons, but was more difficult in practicality.

We finally reached a point that sounded like what her friends had described to her, an outcropping of rock similar to a cave at the top of a steep hill. She scrambled up on her own before I did the same, nails thick with mud from grabbing any sturdy surface.

Once there, I unloaded my pack and took in the view. The rock sheltered us from the brutal winds but still allowed us to see the gorge below. From there, we spent the night with chicken tortilla soup, mugs of wine and a heated game of Phase 10, listening to fireworks in the distance.

So why was I there? Camping certainly makes me uncomfortable. The lack of real beds and showers is just one of the many reasons, but I’m also not in my element, not in control. This was a fairly low-risk entry into my year of discomfort, as we were gone for less than 24 hours, but still something I wasn’t excited to do.

I didn’t have any backup activities, my laptop at home and no televisions for miles. I instead focused on the experience, on figuring out what was so bad about camping, anyways. I woke up early the next morning with only a few hours sleep but was still invigorated. I saw the sunrise over the gorge with a clear mind, ready to take on the new year with a renewed sense of power over discomfort and anxiety.

Since then, I’ve checked off a few items from my mental “discomfort” list, including public speaking at the New York Times Travel Show and going on my first date in many years. Both made me uncomfortable, but I survived. Just as I didn’t get attacked by bears on my overnight camping trip, I didn’t have a public meltdown during these situations.

The worst case scenario is always much smaller than I imagine. So in an effort to actually follow through with pushing through the things that make me uncomfortable, I’m publishing them here on the blog, which, ironically, also makes me uncomfortable.

• Go on a date
• Go camping
• Speak in public
• Go to an event where I don’t know anyone and talk to strangers
• Go to an event without relying on alcohol
• Kiss someone without drinking
• Wear my skimpy swimsuit in public or post a photo without feeling self-conscious
• Read my writing in front of an audience
• Take more selfies, despite my eczema
• Wear makeup and dress up more often

Be sure to track my progress as I add to this list over the next year and see how I’m doing with the #yearofdiscomfort hashtag on Instagram.

What makes you uncomfortable? What are you doing to change it?