If You’re Uncomfortable

Then you know you’re doing the right thing.

She told me this earlier this evening as I was gearing up to head out to the Motorcycle Saftey Course on Folsom and 18th at the San Francisco Motorcycle Club.

Discomfort means I am growing, she continued, you’re doing just fine.

Grr.

Well, there’s that then.

I guess that a nicer way to say discomfort is to say growth.

I grew a bit today then.

Actually, over the last week, a lot.

Asking for things that make me uncomfortable, growing toward a richer life, a more abundant and prosperous one in which I take care of myself and do the necessary, uncomfortable, holy shit, actions to do so.

Finding out that I don’t have work on Friday.

Which precipitated me asking to be paid for this week and also outlining that should I be asked to work Friday’s in the future I have to be compensated if I hold them and they are not used.

If I am going to really embrace being a professional, career nanny, if I am going to stop looking for the next wunderkind career that is going to make me (can anyone spell fantasy?) I need to act like a professional.

A therapist will charge for a cancelled appointment, so to a doctor, even restaurants ask for a credit card to hold a reservation.

I need to do the same.

And after some writing.

I did.

It was fine, of course, all the crap, just crap in my head.

Still uncomfortable with having Friday off, as I have been uncomfortable having most of this week off.

Of course, ironic, I am working tomorrow after having a late night out in the city.

“The class will go until 10 p.m. tonight, or there about, depending on how quickly we get through the material,” said the instructor this evening.

Shit.

I was expecting a few hours, but I was not expecting  four hours of class time.

Ugh.

It was all necessary, I can see that, and I learned a lot, I did, I did.

I also learned that I am more nervous about taking the class then I thought I was and that it too will be something to walk through, that is, the actual skills portion.

I know about street awareness from being on my bicycle, but all the other stuff about a motorcycle threw me into a little bit of a panic.

I like the idea of learning it, but I don’t like the idea of failing it.

Then I think.

What if I did?

So what?

I just go get the permit and I take the skills test at the DMV.

Passing the class will insure that I don’t have to take the riding test and completion of it will also allow me to skip getting a permit.

Seven to ten business days after I finish the skill class on Sunday, I will receive my certificate of completion.  At that point then I go to the DMV and take the written test.

I have to also get insurance and then I am on the road.

So, I am still looking at a bit of time on my bicycle.

Which, truth be told, thrilled me with its simplicity tonight.

Granted I was not thrilled to be riding from Folsom and 18th out to 46th and Irving, but I didn’t need to think about shifting and down shifting and clutch and brake and swerving and curves and…

I also realize that I did have to learn a lot of things on my bicycle and those things were not always comfortable to learn.

The first time getting on a bicycle in San Francisco.

The first time I rode clipless on a touring bike.

The first time I rode fixed gear.

I had to learn to get through the discomfort.

I never fell in my clipless, but I had more than a few close calls when I was almost unable to unclip my shoes from my pedals before dismounting.

I never fell from my bike riding in fixed gear, but I felt out of control for a while and I don’t believe I shall ever forget how scared I was the first time I went down a big hill in fixed gear, that was an experience.

But I showed up, walked, or as the case may be, rode, through the experience, learned, grew.

Discomfort=growth.

That is what I have to remind myself of again and again.

If I am uncomfortable I am having a growth spurt.

I will be a little uncomfortable getting up early tomorrow after all the days of sleeping in, but up I shall get, and it will be nice to have a day of work, to know where to show up and how.

I realized today that I really like routine, it makes me feel like I am in control.

But that is a false idea, I am aware more so than, I believe, I ever have been, that though routine provides comfort, in my experience, that comfort can lull me into a false sense of well-being.

I will get used to things being a certain way.

Being single.

Not earning enough to thrive, but just enough to survive.

Over packing my schedule so that I don’t have time to have feelings.

Or isolating through being busy.

If I am busy working I am too busy to see you.

Or you.

Or you.

It’s uncomfortable putting myself out there to date.

It’s uncomfortable asking for what I need.

Shit.

Most times I don’t even allow myself to see what I need, to let myself become aware of my needs as been a journey of discomfort.

See six months in Paris.

I was looking at the photograph of me and the Vespa from yesterday, which has not failed to thrill me every time I view it, and I realized, again, that my life is so much fuller and more realized than when I was in Paris.

That it can and will become even more so here.

I had to go to see what I can become here.

I allow myself to be uncomfortable.

I am teachable.

I am growing.

Thus allowing myself a more fully realized life.

Bringing joy to myself and others.

That’s the whole point of growth anyhow.

Uncomfortable or not.

I have to do it.

ALL THE TIME.

But hey, I’m not complaining.

Just pointing out the obvious need.

For me anyhow.

I don’t speak for anyone else.

I have enough on my plate with myself.

Thanks, I will have the growth with a side of humility, mashed discomfort, and change.

Got that?

Great!

Pass the salt please.

What?

Don’t tell me you didn’t know that?

Discomfort tastes so much better if lightly salted.

Everything does, really.

Tags: asking for what I need, balance, bicycle, bicycle commute, bicycling, discomfort, fear, growing pains, growth, help, motorcycle safety course, postaday, recovery, San Francisco, San Francisco Motorcycle Club, uncomfortable, work