Some of the best things in my life are products of what I think is the most underrated feeling: discomfort. Upon first reaction, your mind might gravitate towards the clammy feeling in your palms, the weight that seems to drag your feet, or the awkward tone of your voice when you feel uncomfortable, but trust me when I say discomfort breeds opportunity, and opportunity leads to growth—if you allow it.
My best friend from home is a girl named Zoe, who I feel so lucky to love, and now, to miss. The story of our friendship is one that we tell often, even quizzing each other when we play what we like to call “Best Friend Trivia” during long car rides. Aside from the many anecdotes and random details we have since attributed to that fateful day, it all began with a simple act of courage in the form of a text.
I know this is out of the blue, but I was wondering if you’d want to hang out this week?
Since sending that message, my entire world has changed as it began to revolve around the axis of her, and for that, I am endlessly grateful.
My efforts to check off new experiences also brought me to some of the most unexpected of places, including a trampoline park. Eight girls who didn’t really know each other packed into the back seats of my beloved minivan and embarked on a night that would go down in friendship history as the ultimate bonding experience. It’s funny now to think back on the unfamiliarity and space that used to exist between us, as they are my first thought when someone asks me about home. We have watched each other grow into the people we are and will become, and are never more comfortable than when we are back together, squished into that same minivan.
Most recently, my willingness to embrace discomfort led me here—to writing. I’ve always loved it and even took a focused course on it last semester, but I rarely permitted myself to practice it purely for myself. The days of my year are filled with the voices of writers like Dolly Alderton and fictional columnists like Carrie Bradshaw, women who turned their observations and vulnerabilities into something tangible. At some point, I realized it wasn’t enough to simply admire their courage—I had to find my own. Surrounding myself with writers meant accepting the vulnerability of becoming one, too.
One of my favorite quotes is written in crayon and pasted to a bathroom wall at the summer camp I grew up going to. It reads:
“Those who mind don’t matter, and those who matter don’t mind.”
So, get uncomfortable. Ask them to lunch, jump in the lake, get loud, raise your hand, DANCE, wear the outfit, try karaoke, and feel all of the feelings: the good, the bad, and most importantly, the weird. Find comfort in the risk and all that it has to offer because everything that is meaningful starts with a little uncertainty.