Comfort in the Unknown

image by doeth

"I'm excited and nervous about it," I said.

"Why?" James asked.

"Because it's outside of my normal milieu. Outside of my comfort zone."

There's a pause. I know what my husband is about to say next, and I know he's right.

"Yeah, but doing things outside of your comfort zone is part of who you are."

"That doesn't mean they're not still uncomfortable."

It's true. I do push myself to do things outside of my comfort zone, not because I'm an adrenaline junkie with something to prove, but because so often what I want is beyond the boundaries of what I know. I do these things because I know I'd regret not doing them:

• Auditioning for college and community theatre
• Living in a foreign country for a year
• Going out to eat or to a movie by myself
• Signing up for a five-day art seminar retreat
• Putting my private thoughts out there for the world to read
• Planting a garden
• Going to conferences filled with other bloggers and writers
  
• Signing up for a summer watercolor class
• Learning to drive a stick shift
• Mastering the insidious worlds of mortgage lending and credit scores
• Taking a roadtrip by myself
• Calling the mayor's office to ask for an interview
• Going door-to-door to campaign for my candidate of choice
• Starting a business
• Trying scallops
• Admitting that I've struggled with depression
  
• Getting my first pet
• Volunteering to be a Big Sister
• Wearing pantyhose and high heels

I read this list and none of it seems very radical. Nothing on the list is shocking or so far outside of the norm that it would make news. But how many of our daily fears and triumphs do?

I picture my comfort and discomfort zones as slightly intersecting circles with just the tiniest bit overlapping in a shade of grey. But beyond that are more circles. Your circles. And they all intersect. What I fear, you may not think about twice. What I do with ease may send you spiraling into a panic.

What if we could let go of the fear, acknowledge the discomfort and just move on, knowing that our circles' boundaries will change; believing that others will be there to welcome us into their zones?

What if "Feel the fear and do it anyway" was more than a saying that has become trite from extended usage in certain circles? What if it's the only way to live?

I'd love to hear what your comfort zone includes and excludes. I imagine building this giant network of comfort and support, so that no matter what we have to do, we know someone who can tell us all about it and welcome us into our own unknown.

Two Types of Value

In my last post I pondered what it means to value yourself enough to align your talents and desires with your actions. Part of what got me thinking about all of this was a post called Get a Real Job from Chris Garret on New Media .

Chris writes about people who think that blogging in particular – and writing in general – are not "real" jobs and are not worthy of real compensation. He asks, "Do people feel writing and getting rewarded for it is ripping people off in some way?" Here are my two cents from the comments section off that post:

I recently read an analogy comparing publishing a blog to publishing your very own newspaper. I think this type of comparison can be helpful for people who are new to blogging or unsure of its purpose and value. It's easier to "get" blogging when it's compared to a form of traditional media (like a newspaper, newsletter, or magazine), at least as a starting point. And it's given me a new perspective on how to approach my own blog. I'm building a list of ideas of regular and special features, types of content, ways to generate interactivity with readers, and how to monetize all of these efforts. I blog because I love to tell stories, but it’s also part of my business. I like the connection of passion and profit.

As far as people undervaluing blogging, it's the same with writing in most forms. I think that this pervasive attitude is also what makes some freelancers work for so little. Too many writers embrace the "starving artist" mindset, are simply desperate for work-any-work-at-any-price, or are just not very good writers. When I first started freelancing, I had to constantly remind myself that I was running a business and needed to value my talents and services appropriately. After all, if I didn't value them, others wouldn't. I always knew this in a business sense, but it took awhile to know it with every fiber of my being – in other words, to be able to quote my rates without secretly cringing. For awhile, I kept thinking, "Who pays for this shit?" It’s not that I thought my work was crappy. But I marveled that people would pay good money for something that came so easily to me. Then again, I pay people to mow my lawn and do my taxes – two areas outside of my own expertise. The moral of the story: People will pay for what they want/need. Which we all knew already.

Since I write for a living, both kinds of valuation – personal and profitable – are important to me.

What do you value in yourself? Does it also have value in the marketplace? I'm not suggesting that money should be the only motivator for using our talents. But too often we overlook opportunities to benefit from doing what we love. We all have gifts and we all need money to live. Why shouldn't the two overlap?

What do you love to do? What are your hobbies? Are there people who want the end product but don't want to do the work to get it? Would they be willing to pay you to do the work?