Exquisite Discomfort

This is an excerpt from the weekly News-Loveletter. If you would like it sent to your inbox directly (with all the other juicy bits, including a mini joy practice), you can add yourself to my mailing list here.

“I’m totally going for a swim,” says Trinidad, pushing a tiny iceberg away from the shore with his boot. It rocks and wobbles as it glides slowly away. “How about you, Mom?”

This is the question I’ve been asking myself these past few hours. Now is the time to answer. “Me too,” I say quietly.

“What? You’re going in?!” cries Trin. Beloved Seda raises her eyebrows.

“Yup.”

I’d been afraid of falling into the water when we’d kayaked across the river. Afraid that even with a drysuit on, my head and hands submerging into glacial water could be a shock that killed me. Is that melodramatic? The current was nothing to scoff at either.

But the decision to step into these frigid, pristine waters right now is just the tip of our adventure’s iceberg. Two days ago, we flew into Fairbanks to see our grown sons, Trinidad and Sam, ages 24 and 21, respectively. We also came to check out the hiking guiding company Northern Epics, they launched two years ago.

As a gift to us and to beta-test a new trek for the biz, Trinidad had us delivered by fanboat downriver of Maclaren glacier. We’d hiked and floated our gear in further. After setting up camp, we’d made our way to this lake, exploring a canyon and waterfall at the valley’s edge.

All of this is outside of my comfort zone. But the lake now has my full attention. How often do we zero in on discomfort as opportunity? Not so often, in my experience. But here’s the thing: I imagine I’ll be more comfortable with the idea of accidentally falling into the water if I choose to go in now on my own.

I’m ready, and I step into the nearly frozen lake. Crystalline water encircles my legs, torso, and arms. I breathe hard and slowly, feeling the sting of its sheer, ferocious cold. My breath grows gentler, less ragged at the edges. I begin to welcome the intensity. I relax and rest my feet against the pebbles at the bottom.

The worst is over. I loosen my body with intention, mastering myself. Choosing the uncomfortable resolves more than half of my fears of the cold. Directing my attention to the sensation of icy burn, I find it manageable. I’m not dead yet!

Gathering my energy to wave the water behind me, I step slowly out of the lake. My skin touches the air and feels as though it may shatter. Within minutes, exhilaration rises in me. I stand shivering in the sun. Endorphins activate from my body’s response to cold. Euphoria.

My fears become irrelevant now that I am awash in the experience itself. A whole new tapestry of sensation has displaced my idea of discomfort. To have thrown open the door to exquisite sensation, to meet my fears … Friends, this is a celebration of being alive.

With compassion for our whole being, we may receive ourselves in discomfort rather than shrinking from it. This act is so precious to me that it’s one of the skills I teach: Allowing Emotions Safe Passage. I will add that the risk I took today is a calculated one, and I’m well supported in it. I would not want to go polar-bearing into every pot of fears on my shelf.

I’m sharing this with you, because I had a moment to decide who I wanted to be. Who I am stepping into being. I chose to meet discomfort with courage and compassion so I could be freed from some of my fear. Not all—I have a healthy respect for those waters. But the part that can be managed is now managed. And I did it on my own (with friends!), stepping into my power. Euphoria.

What decision stands before you today, calling you to act with courage and integrity? Does it call you to step into discomfort?