The Sea of Discomfort
Have you ever visited the Sea of Discomfort? I have.
It’s not a physical place but walk with me, if you will, along the shoreline. The air is humid, heavy with anticipation of rain but there’s a gentle breeze to cool your steps. There’s a storm out at sea, black sky and the occasional strike of lightning beautiful in stark relief. But the sky above you is a dark blue, laden with clouds holding their rain for another day. Interestingly, the storm out at sea doesn’t impact the shoreline we’re walking along. It’s calm and gentle. Listen to the sound of the water lapping at the shore. It’s warm and inviting; it’s peaceful and non-intrusive. The Sea of Discomfort has a soft and gentle voice; a quiet reminder, whispering, “Things are changing! This is different. I want you to be prepared… Are you ready?”
Recently, I’ve been navigating a season of change, and the concept of discomfort came into sharp focus when I realized three things: 1) The Sea of Discomfort is a calm, steady companion that wants to protect me from the unknown, 2) I’ve been ignoring it for a long time, and 3) It's not calm when I ignore it.
The current season of change involves moving house, again. I’ve moved roughly every 6 months to 1 year for the last 17 years of my life. Sometimes it’s a small move within the same city—apartment to apartment. Other times it’s a bigger move—from state to state. And there have been multiple, major moves—from country to country. The last move (state to state) was drastically different to the current move (city to city).
With the state to state move, even though I knew it was coming, I somehow managed to ignore the calm, quiet voice of The Sea of Discomfort as it tried to unobtrusively prepare me for the changes. Having ignored the kind attempts at protection, The Sea of Discomfort finally raged up onto the shoreline and dragged me out to sea! It was a tsunami wave of discomfort enveloping and overwhelming me. I was churning in place, drowning, trying to figure out which way was up. I was also angry. Why was The Sea of Discomfort so big and scary? Where had that damn wave come from?
When I could finally tell up from down, I struck out for the shore feeling confused and frustrated. I fought to take deep breaths and feel in control of my life. Once back on shore, I berated The Sea for attacking me! I stomped my feet and yelled at it—raging at the discomfort it caused and how it up-ended my life. It was properly abashed at the pain it caused, and so I moved on without really understanding why it turned into such a storm in the first place,
Fast forward to now, another move, city-to-city. This time I paused long enough to tell The Sea of Discomfort I did not want to be tsunamied! I shook my finger at the Sea and told it I’d be watching and ready for it. I decked myself in rubber-duck-inflatables and carried a loud whistle to call for help just in case. The Sea of Discomfort was amused by my antics and invited me, instead, to sit down for a little while and listen to what it had to say.
There was a comfortable beach chair, low to the ground, navy blue and dark wood laid out for me to sit on. A low table offering an inviting drink. I was nervous, but I sat down (with all my rubber-duck-inflatables clasped tightly to my body) and decided to listen. The Sea of Discomfort, spoke softly, with its gentle voice, and told me that it simply wanted to protect me from the unknown! It wanted me to be prepared. I’d been walking along its shores for years without acknowledging that it was there–it just wanted me to be safe. It wanted to help me look down the shore so I could see what I was walking into.
As it talked, I slowly took off each of the rubber-duck-inflatables and set my whistle aside. It just wanted to protect me? I could let it do that; I could even appreciate it. The act of pausing to listen changed my entire relationship with discomfort. The fear of an overwhelming and sudden tsunami disappeared. A companionship developed in which The Sea of Discomfort sends gentle alerts about what is waiting down the shoreline to help me prepare for change and the unknown.
This current move has been radically different from the one before. I’m constantly meandering along the shore of the Sea of Discomfort listening to its questions and wisdom. “There are some changes on the horizon; how would you like to prepare? What are you worried about today? What would help you feel peaceful? What would help you feel calm?” The questions are sometimes different and sometimes the same but the pause, the act of listening, and as a result the act of knowing, have made this season of change a joy to be present in.
Journey Prompt:
How do you navigate discomfort in your life?
Have you even been pulled out to sea by a wave of discomfort that you didn’t see coming?
How would treating discomfort like a defender that wants to protect you change the way you interact with it?
If discomfort was a kind, wise friend who wanted to help you - what could you learn? What would you ask?
