The other side of uncomfortable

Good morning,

I've recently started choir practice. Now, joining a choir at 58 is already something a little outside my comfort zone. I enjoy singing, and that's really why I'm there. To sing, enjoy the experience, and perhaps learn something along the way.

But there's something I hadn't quite accounted for. Hand movements.

We're learning two songs, and apparently there are movements that go along with them. Nothing particularly complicated, but enough for me to find myself thinking, hang on a minute, I came here to sing. I didn't sign up to learn dance moves or perform.

And I could feel myself pushing back. Not outwardly, particularly. Just that little internal resistance. That feeling of not really wanting to do something because it makes me uncomfortable.

Of course, nobody is asking me to become a professional dancer. I'm part of a choir, and this is simply part of what we're doing. But it got me thinking. Where else in my life do I push back against something simply because it feels uncomfortable? And more importantly, what might that resistance be stopping me from experiencing?

I've been designing workshops recently, something I've wanted to do for quite some time. The idea is to create a space where people can reflect on their own lives, share their experiences if they wish, and perhaps leave with a slightly different perspective on something they're going through.

It's something I believe in, and it's a natural extension of the coaching work I already do. But there's still that little voice. What if nobody turns up? What if I don't know enough? What if someone asks me something I can't answer? What will people think?

And I recognise that voice. I've heard it plenty of times before.

The interesting thing is that none of those questions actually helps me design or deliver a workshop. They're simply thoughts about things that haven't happened. Noise. And if I give that noise too much attention, I can very easily talk myself out of doing something I genuinely want to do.

The same goes for the choir. If I spend the whole time wondering how ridiculous I might look moving my hands, I'm missing the very reason I joined in the first place. To sing.

I've been reflecting on how much of my life I've spent worrying about things that, in the end, weren't nearly as frightening as I'd imagined. And also how far I've come.

There was a time when I might have allowed that uncomfortable feeling to make the decision for me. I might have found a perfectly reasonable excuse not to take part, not to put myself forward or not to try something new.

These days, I'm becoming more willing to notice the resistance without necessarily listening to it. That doesn't mean the feeling disappears. Sometimes it's still there, telling me I might look foolish or that I'm not quite ready. But I've learned that I don't always have to wait until I feel comfortable before doing something.

Sometimes I just have to begin.

And there's something rather exciting about what happens next. Once you're actually doing the thing you were worried about, your attention begins to move away from yourself and towards what you're there to do.

You're singing the song rather than worrying about who's watching. You're having a conversation rather than wondering whether you're saying the right thing. You're creating a workshop rather than imagining all the reasons it might go wrong.

And suddenly, the thing that felt so uncomfortable begins to feel a little more familiar. Not necessarily easy, but possible.

I think that's an important distinction.

I'm not suggesting we should all go around making ourselves uncomfortable for the sake of it. There are plenty of uncomfortable situations that we have good reasons to walk away from. But there are also those moments when the discomfort comes from doing something that matters to us. Something we'd like to experience, learn or become better at.

And perhaps those are the moments worth paying attention to.

Because when I look back at the journey I've been on, so much of what I value today came from being willing to do something I wasn't entirely comfortable doing. Starting again. Learning to coach. Putting myself out there. Building something new. Having conversations I once might have avoided.

And now, apparently, singing while moving my hands.

I'm still not particularly enthusiastic about that last part, but I'll give it a go. After all, I joined the choir to enjoy singing, not to spend my time worrying about what other people might think.

And as for the workshops, I'm going to keep designing them, put myself in front of a room, and see what happens.

Because I've come far enough to know that the noise in my head doesn't always deserve the attention I give it.

And quite often, there's something worth experiencing on the other side of uncomfortable.

Have a good Wednesday.

Stefan