Unexpected happenings make fantastic opportunities for growth, for nuance, for different perspectives. Lucky me had the privilege of experiencing one just this past week.
Last Saturday, I made a trek down to south central Wisconsin for my sister-in-law’s baby shower. I was planning on staying one night at my in-laws and then planned to head back Sunday night, returning to the cabin late. The cosmos had other plans. When I went to move my car out of the driveway Sunday morning, it wouldn’t start. Plans thwarted. I will spare you the rigamarole. I ended up being there three nights instead of one, returning home late Tuesday night after I was finally able to get my vehicle repaired. My in-laws were wonderful, gracious hosts and happy to have me stay. I never felt like a burden, I felt loved and cared for. But I also had only one change of clothes, some toiletries, and my Kindle and that was about it. I couldn’t work, write, paint, nothin’. Just did a whole lot of reading and chatting with my mother-in-law while we waited and waited to hear what was wrong with the car.
I have been thinking a lot lately about discomfort and inconvenience. Not just because I was in a place unexpectedly without a vehicle, laptop, or the other things I wish I’d had with me, but because our recent transition into off-grid living has brought these themes into my present life as well.
The comment that both Spencer and I receive the most when chatting with anyone about our newly off-grid venture is, “I could never do something like that.” While I realize that those people are some and that does not apply to everyone, I have been thinking a lot about what people mean by this. More often than not, living off-grid isn’t necessarily something people aren’t able to do, it’s just something that seems uncomfortable or inconvenient. And you know what? It is!
Modern living is designed around comfort and convenience. We build homes that make the most sense for our lifestyle. We have hot water whenever we want it, heat at the click of a button — or these days on an app on our phone controls lights, heat, air conditioning, you name it. We have closets for lots of storage so we can access anything we want when we would like to access it. We can order anything online and it will get here within 24 hours. Innovation has brought us into a space where everything is available at all times. I want to clarify before I continue, that I don’t think there is anything wrong with this. To each their own. Cheers to progress and innovation!
But this brings me to the lightbulb moment I had as I was sitting in bed, sipping coffee on Monday morning in a downstairs guest bedroom. I did not choose to live off-grid because it is convenient or comfortable. I chose to live off-grid so that I could be closer to nature and have a more intimate and mindful relationship with the resources I use every day. I chose to live off-grid knowing full well that I was going to experience discomfort and even be inconvenienced.
I am not old, but I have lived enough to be able to reflect on my life and know that the times where I have experienced my greatest growth and expansion occurred when I was deeply uncomfortable. Carrying a canoe over my head for the first time. Starting this art business — absolutely terrifying but obviously worth it. Going to Homeopathy school and paying my way through by working a couple scrappy part time jobs. Deciding to call off my wedding at 28 years old. Trying difficult techniques to challenge myself to become a better artist. Getting vulnerable on the internet and sending out a newsletter. And this, making the decision to leave our comfy farmhouse with all its amenities, get rid of half our stuff, put the rest in storage and live in a cabin with no bathroom and no running water. Every single one of these experiences has brought me face to face with a version of myself I had never met prior to that circumstance. All of these things have taught me what I am made of — grit and tenacity and tenderness and so much power. Each experience has shown me how to be kinder to myself and to others, how to have respect and compassion for myself, how to say no when something is making me feel horrible, and how to confidently say yes and enter into a new adventure even when I’m scared.
Part of what I do is just plain uncomfortable. Every time I release a painting into the world I risk criticism or rejection, or the worst, silence. Every time I write an article and share my vulnerability I am at risk of ruffling feathers or someone just plain not liking what I have to say — though usually I don’t end up being confronted, people just unsubscribe, but even that stings from time to time. Every time I bring a homeopathic client to meet a part of themselves that feels tender or scary, I risk a reaction, and I risk encountering an uncomfortable emotion within myself. Being authentic comes with discomfort and every time I proclaim exactly who I am to the world, I risk losing clients, collectors, followers, friends, sometimes even family.
Growth is often inconvenient and almost always uncomfortable. The risk is always failure or feeling disgust or guilt or shame or grief or anxiety or anger or exhaustion. But not taking the risk also ensures we miss out on joy, new opportunities, expansion, or love. What I am shown over and over again when I get in uncomfortable situations is that new people show up for me and remind me I deserve to be celebrated. Or I see that I am far more capable of something than my fear has ever allowed me to believe. I get to experience support and strength and compassion and I get to feel how wonderful it is to be alive. Connecting with other people reminds me that love is always out there. My walks in the woods remind me I can tell my painful truths to the trees and let them be carried away on the wind. Painting reminds me that I am capable of making literally anything I want, that there is power in my imagination and in my hands. Healing has taught me that my heart can break into a million tiny pieces and I can still fall in love with my life over and over again. I could not have experienced any of this without allowing myself to do the uncomfortable thing, to be inconvenienced. That sometimes ending up in the most foreign of places ends up showing me all the incredible things I am made of.