Is all discomfort bad?
I am fresh off my first Spartan Race. I initially found the idea of anything related to the Greek legacy extremely intimidating. Yet I decided to sign up on a whim during the cold, languishing February chill of pandemic life in Seattle. I realize looking back that it wasn’t as impulsive as it seemed. In that moment I was choosing to add a much-needed spark to my life. The hope of a future adventure, camaraderie, endorphins, and a “victory,” whatever that meant.
I found it to be all that and more. Our team of three navigated running across ankle-rolling fields, climbing mud laced cargo nets and ropes, and crawling under barbed wire. On our hands and knees, we visually consulted the strategies of our fellow racers, and crawled like our lives depended on it, attempting to avoid the barbs. A metaphor for surviving the pandemic together in so many ways.
I had a smile on my face the entire time. True to expectation the endorphins were flowing and simultaneously, counter to my fear, I was overcoming each obstacle. I moved onto the next with a few bruises and a budding sense of satisfaction. While I ran through the next field, I thought about when and why we might choose pain. I thought “This here, is pain with a purpose.”
Let me break down some myths about discomfort. The largest we hold is that “discomfort is bad and to be avoided at all costs.” If that were true, Barack Obama would never have become president. Paralympic athletes would neither train nor compete. No one would have children. We are hedonically wired at our most basic level to seek pleasure and avoid pain. This is a survival strategy that is suited to an environment of scarcity. In this modern day and age, many of us are looking to do more than survive, we are looking to thrive. And luckily, we can call upon the more advanced part of our brain, the cortex, to inform how we might do so. It turns out that thriving means going after what we care about, what we discern has meaning for us, and often these activities involve discomfort.
I acknowledge that not everyone is going to choose a Spartan Race or for that matter an athletic endeavor. Because of my privilege and able body, this is something I am able to choose. But there are many forms of challenge available to us.
For example, we might be shy or experience anxiety in social situations. If, however, we value connection, it would be worth it for us to put ourselves out there to meet people and form relationships. In this case we accept the risk that the interactions may feel awkward (life is awkward, interacting is awkward), and at the worst we may be rejected. More than likely though other people are feeling like us. The truth is that it is vulnerable for anyone and everyone to put themselves out there. Relationships are risky. Yet like other things we choose in life, say driving (aka hurtling 3,000 lb machines down roadways), we accept the risk in order to have a meaningful life.
Another myth is that we cannot tolerate discomfort. Our mind tells us it will crush us, causing us to implode. In most cases, this a big lie our reptile brain tells us. Again, it is trying to direct us away from pain. Unfortunately, this might mean away from our values. Most people find themselves resilient far beyond their wildest perceptions of themselves. Life often doles out unexpected pain at unanticipated moments, and with time and healing, most of us find ourselves on the other side, sometimes even stronger than when we started.
The bottom line is that growth is not comfortable and fulfillment requires experiencing some discomfort. Figure out for yourself what matters to you in life and go after it. Work on your willingness to experience discomfort in the service of your genuine values. Acceptance and Commitment Therapy is a great way to work these muscles. And if you need support, join a group of others who share your values, say a gym, a meditation group, a beginner’s art class, or sign up for a Spartan Race. Join the nutty group of people who sign up to crawl through mud pits on a Sunday afternoon, screaming “Aroo!”
I’ll see you there,
Dr. Burpee