Finding Magic in the Discomfort Zone
Just over two years ago, I wrote a blog post about why I call myself an adventurer.
It’s a post that goes through some of what I mean by that word: adventure: an exciting, unusual, and sometimes dangerous experience. I wrote about why I want to keep making these kinds of adventures with, and outside of, museums.
I wrote:
I am interested in what adventures I can make with people who are willing to share power and think creatively, who are willing to embrace complexity instead of shying away from it or trying to flatten it.
I love looking back on this from a couple years’ distance and realizing that right at this very moment, I’m in the thick of a project—several, actually—that’s exactly that. That sentence above absolutely describes SEED:Baltimore, the workshop and community I’m offering with Rebecca Shulman and David Bowles to managers of gallery educators in all kinds of museums. I wrote about the motivations for SEED in a previous blog post, and the doors are still open until May 1.
The process of planning it has involved all those above things, and more: power sharing, creative thinking, embracing complexity. And it’s a collaborative endeavor (another value I’ve written about repeatedly).
SEED:Baltimore certainly meets my above definition of adventure, too. It’s exciting. It’s unusual. And while there may not be much in the way of grievous danger (as I often say, there’s no such thing as a “museum education emergency”), there is absolutely a sense of uncertainty and discomfort swirling around me in eddies as the start date approaches.
Side note: I’m writing this entry from a cafe overlooking a fast-flowing stream, and a hawk just swooped down and caught a small prey animal on the opposite bank. Eddies and danger: check and check.
This productive anxiety of danger and uncertainty is how I know I’m on the right track.
When I’m training others, I frequently give them the advice that if they’re not nervous about what they’re doing, it’s a sign they’re not invested in it. I take my own advice there, too. I’m heading into the familiar territory of anticipatory nerves as the calendar reminds me that I’m one month away from being in a room with all the exciting museum people who want to devote time and energy to how they manage their teams.
I get a little tightness in my upper chest when I think about it. I find it hard to sit still. I want to shake out my arms and hands and fingers to dispel some of my physical tension.
And I’ve learned over the years that these are all signs that I’m doing something that matters. Those somatic cues tell me that I’m creating my favorite kind of thing: something that may not—scratch that—definitely won’t be right for everyone, but that will be a chef’s kiss of enchantment when it hits its mark for the best-suited people.
Plenty of folks have noted that you can only make real, deep magic when you embrace making something that’s not for everyone. Priya Parker’s written about it. I’ve written about it. Bill Hader spoke about it on an episode of the Ten Percent Happier podcast.
Hader talked about the importance of identifying the conditions that make you productively uncomfortable, and making the decision to put yourself in those conditions. It’s taken me a long time to hone my ability to identify and embrace those conditions for myself, but now that I’m working for myself, I’ve found it’s easier to lean into them.
It’s one of the key things I love most about having a portfolio career that I can develop around my values, priorities, and skill sets. Taylor Elyse Morrison just wrote about having a portfolio career, and she hits on exactly this same uncertainty.
In Taylor’s words, it’s “engaging instability”.
I might call it productive discomfort or bold adventure.
Regular readers here know I like playing with words, so you probably won’t be surprised that I’ve got guiding words for Q2, just as I had for Q1. My Rippling Year is focused on the central question What is my center, and what am I spreading? For Q2, I am centering play and spreading adventure, and I’m being guided by the phrase “curious playful unfolding”.
Because, no, I don’t have the energy to constantly be balancing on that BOSU ball. The important corollary to leaning into these kinds of uncertain escapades is to balance it with quieter, internal stabilizing periods (see Q1 of this year where I was centering reflection and spreading ease). This is the quarter of the year where I’m waking up with the new springtime buds and wanting to frolic with all my rambunctious Aries energy.
I’ve got some travel-type frolics on the books for this quarter already.
I frolicked up to Northern Vermont for a totally awe-inspiring viewing of the solar eclipse in the path of totality, and then I practiced being present and mindful and patient on highways and back roads for 7 hours to get home. I’m frolicking to Cancún to celebrate a friend’s 40th birthday. I’m frolicking to Baltimore for SEED and to see a bunch of museum world colleagues without actually attending the American Alliance of Museums conference.
But as I wrote back in that blog post about adventure of two years ago, adventure is about more than travel and more than frolicking.
Notably, the eclipse was an incredible experience that I could plan for (get the glasses, pick a location, plan the navigation to get there, watch the NASA maps of cloud cover), which was immediately followed by an odyssey of a return journey. Sure, I knew it was going to be long and traffic-filled getting home, but I had no way of planning ahead of time for that, and instead had to trust the GPS gods and the suggested detours and commit to the literal ride through literal unknown territory.
In similar vein, I am doing my very best to plan for the projects and adventures I have on my plate. But no matter how carefully I plan them, I know to trust in the spontaneity of the way they actually unfold. SEED:Baltimore won’t be a reality until the cohort actually comes together. Even travels for fun inevitably include stress and fatigue and unknown obstacles in one’s path.
I don’t really know what’s going to come out of any of the curious playful unfoldings I have ahead.
Yes, I imagine there will be magic.
Yes, there will almost certainly be things that go wrong.
I can already tell you there’s anxiety.
And honestly, that’s exactly the kind of engaging instability, of productive discomfort, of bold adventure that’s where I thrive.
I don’t think I could find a better sign that my season of playful adventure is underway.
Creative Prompt Coda: Next time you’re in a public setting with a group of people, decide which single item of clothing or single accessory you’d most like to wear from each person.
