Discomfort is a virtue. Use it.

It’s time to meet the best version of yourself

Disclaimer: This article is produced for entertainment and informational purposes only. It is not a substitute for the help of a licensed mental health professional or therapist.

If you, or anyone you know, is struggling, seek help immediately from the Samaritans or local emergency services.

I didn’t dare.

Instead I sat there, ruminating.

You’ll regret it, if you don’t.

But what if I look ridiculous?

What if I make a fool of myself?

Isn’t it safer to sit here, keep my head down, and say nothing?

Yes.

Which is the exact moment I stood up, walked over, held out my hand and said:

‘I just wanted to thank you. For speaking with such clarity.’

My heart rate was through the roof, my mouth was dry, and my mind ran a loop of panicked thoughts on the theme of:

Don’t say something stupid.

And when I sat back down, the adrenaline pumping, the email open on my screen a scrawl of hieroglyphs, I smiled.

Because I felt fucking alive.

Why don’t we do this again sometime?

There’s something about the dread of speaking to strangers that makes perfectly rational people turn cold.

Anyone that’s lived in London will tell you as much.

Your average commute on the Tube goes something like this when there’s someone open to conversation in your carriage:

Don’t look ‘em in the eyes.

What if someone speaks to me?

Pretend to read the adverts.

(You know it’s bad when you choose to read adverts).

I’ve often marvelled at this phenomenon, even as I’ve acted in the same way.

I used to think it was the mass of people that brought this on.

And there’s something in that.

But I don’t think it explains why everyone finds it much easier to slink off silently into the shadows than to thank a bus driver.

I think it has everything to do with the crutches we use to get through the day.

The one that’s slowly causing our bones to wither.

And ironically, we call it: ‘safety’.

The crippling anxiety of asking for change

You’re five years old.

You’ve paid the woman for the sweet and run back to the parental figure that gave you this quest.

But you’re not done yet.

She’s got your change.

It doesn’t feel safe.

You panic. You hide. You look away.

It takes a lot of encouragement, but with enough of a nudge, you accept the coins.

This epic and frightening adventure was… a bit anticlimactic really, wasn’t it?

Now, you don’t even think about it, and not just because you’re paying with contactless.

And yet, the same paralysing terror plays out in moments that stack, until you feel like you’ve moved through life as a ghost.

A spectre, observing others effortlessly interact while you vanish.

And you know how I know?

Because I’m guilty too.

The shame you carry isn’t yours

The game is: Get uncomfortable

All of us, myself included, would rather sit and mellow out on something asinine if given the choice.

At least that’s what we tell ourselves.

That it’s inevitable.

That it’s obvious.

Only, it doesn’t have to be, does it?

Because the word we skip over is the most important.

You don’t have to choose comfort.

You don’t have to choose the habit.

You certainly don’t choose to act shy.

Comfort feels like safety, but discomfort’s where the future you wants to live.

Your journey there starts with the audacity of taking a tiny risk.

You’re one call away from feeling better

It’s a moment.

A fragile thing.

Where you hear the fear, acknowledge the panic, expect to fuck it up…

And speak anyway.

And once you’ve done the thing, you’ll hopefully realise what I did:

It was never about the conversation.

It was about proving to yourself you deserved to be seen.

Because let’s be honest:

You’re not getting a scorecard with how you did today.

But if you dare to speak?

You secure a place in someone’s story.

Does that make you uncomfortable?

Good.

Then there’s no better time to begin.

Warmest regards

Your author

Stuart Found

P.S. When’s the last time you had a charming chat with a stranger? What was it about? What stopped you from making excuses?