Meant for growth

“Come fair winds to wake them tomorrow, we pray.” - Allister MacGillivray (Image by luckster99)

One of the luxuries of adulthood is that you can spend most of your time doing things that you’re already good at.

As you come to have the means to do so, you can regulate your environment so that you have few surprises and everything is where you like it.

Consequently, you don’t have to be uncomfortable unless something happens beyond your control or you choose to do something new.

Feelings of awkwardness, anxiety, confusion, frustration, impatience, disorientation, overwhelm, stress — these are a few of the uncomfortable feelings that, in moderate doses, provide an opportunity for growth. These feelings and the experiences that trigger them are not always welcome, but they are often beneficial.

And given that we can’t control everything all the time — given that there will always be surprises — it makes sense to do things that make us uncomfortable, on purpose, so that we become adept at managing the inevitable uncertainty and discomfort of life. The skills involved are valuable in and of themselves, and we will strengthen them the more we use them.

In other words, if we keep learning, growing, and challenging ourselves, it’s easier to keep learning, growing, and challenging ourselves.

Unfortunately, the way to do that is by doing things that we kind of don’t want to do but we know are good for us.

As I write this, I’m sitting in the library at my alma mater, The University of Maine. I’m here to take part in an alumni concert honoring the great Dr. Dennis K. Cox, professor emeritus and longtime conductor of the University Singers.

Dr. Cox, or “D.C.,” as he has been affectionately called by his students over the years, has had a profound impact on me personally and professionally. After so many years, what a wonderful treat to be able to once again sing in a choir that he is conducting.

So of course I wanted to come. But also, a tiny part of me didn’t want to come. Like a lot of us during the pandemic, I have become a lot more introverted. I forget that I can get together with friends, in person. It doesn’t even occur to me to make plans and have adventures.

There’s a lot of inertia that keeps me at my laptop, wearing familiar clothes, doing familiar tasks and checking all of the same boxes day after day. The idea of learning new music, packing up my stuff, hitting the road, getting dressed up, and performing on stage was a little overwhelming — not to mention the prospect of seeing friends I haven’t seen in five or fifteen or twenty-five years.

I could have slipped back into my turtle shell and allowed this weekend to be the same as all of the other weekends, but I knew that the pain of not going would massively outweigh the pain of going. I knew that if I could deal with the hassle of carrying out all of the steps, my reward would be not just growth, but unquantifiable joy.

I was right. And of course, the more I am willing to put up with in the name of growth, the less hassle I’m actually going to experience. I’ll be used to it, like those seasoned business travelers who sail through security with no wasted movements. I won’t just be the person who followed through, I will become a person who has a greater capacity for following through, forever.

Tonight, we’re singing the beautiful Allister MacGillivray piece, “Away from the Roll of the Sea.” The lyrics, as DC pointed out this afternoon, are told from the perspective of the boats in the harbor. We’re reminded that the boats, as tranquil as they appear at their moorings, are built for adventure on the open ocean. They’re meant for new experiences and new journeys. So are we.