“You are so inspiring. I want to be like you.”
“Yegads, please. Set your sights higher,” I advised.
“No really. I thought I was being stupid and irresponsible for doing this course at 29, but you showed me you can do anything at any age.”
“Grrrr.”
“I mean, look,” he said as he pointed to the massive hall teeming with our fellow design graduates and their guests. “You took this course and goofed around with these kids. I think it’s so cool that you don’t give a fck.”
Very sweet. But also very mistaken.
Truth is, I do give a fck. Many of them. Including about this course. I wouldn’t be my mother’s daughter if I pranced around life like a carefree gazelle. Instead, I plod around mulling over risks, assessing the chances of colossal embarrassment or failure. But the somewhat ‘unusual’ behavior I suspect my classmate was trying to point out is — like a moth to a flame, I am DRAWN to these challenges. If there is a chance for me to be in over my head, I am on it like white on rice. Call it a penchant for finding unpleasantness and diving in head first.
The more unpleasant, the greater the motivation for me to jump in. Many lifetimes ago, I was invited to be a substitute English teacher for 4 months in an all boys catholic high school. (Note: All Boys. Catholic. High School.) I had been out of university for just about a year, so the students would barely be younger than I was. When I came in to interview for the position, I was given friendly tips on how to survive the term:
- Don’t smile for the first week. You must not show softness or they boys will walk all over you;
- Dress code – ensure that chest, knees and elbows are covered at all times;
- Keep the boys in front of you always. You’ll never know what they’re up to (or peering down into) when they’re standing behind you;
- Be aware of random mirrors lying face up on the floor, particularly if you’re in a skirt. . . the list went on.
As if to confirm the warnings, while I was being given the campus tour, a few boys flung themselves against the metal grills separating us while heaving monkey noises.
I shook all the way home that day. I was acutely terrified of the opportunity, and my brain begged me to beg off. But because I was petrified, I called and accepted the job. And I threw up everyday that week.
Much has been said about the economic value of facing challenges. Like building muscle, conquering challenges helps one grow and adapt. It prepares one to learn HOW to learn new skills in an ever-changing economic environment where, by 2025, an estimated 75% of the workforce will consist of freelancers and entrepreneurs. Bla bla.
Sure, that’s all well and good.
But the reason I nosedive into discomfort is far less strategic. I do it simply for that incredible sensation of liberation — that childhood feeling that accompanies fiiiinally jumping off the high diving board. For me, there is an almost palpable feeling of expansion when you break through the confines that fear traps you in.
When you become a discomfort-chaser, the small fcks (like solo dining) become easy hurdles and the bigger fcks (like taking a design class with ZERO design experience alongside insanely talented kids half your age) become familiar territory to navigate. Then life becomes a string of exhilarating experiments and adventures. Sure, you may find yourself embarrassed once in a while. Or you just may find yourself randomly taking a design class in London, or teaching a group of the sweetest boys, having the absolutelyfckingtastic time of your life.
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Neither here nor there, but if you’re interested in checking out what I’ve been up to in the said design class, check out anipayumo.com
As usual, I would absolutely love to hear your thoughts in the comments section below.