There's a certain threshold that looms in front of me at the end of each day. It's heavy and thick, and passing through it cuts against the current of the day. It feels impassible. It looks like heavy fog. It intimidates me and whispers discomforts in my ear. But this threshold begs me... challenges me to walk through it. It is pain masquerading as tiredness, and fear masquerading as pain. But on the other side of discomfort is vitality and creativity.
Every night at the end of each day, I'm tempted to throw myself down on the couch, grab the remote, and slip into a coma of ease and mindlessness. I enjoy finding a state of restfulness, unwinding by watching t.v., surfing the web on my phone, chatting on social media, or generally doing nothing.
At the end of these nights I can't help but feel a profound sense of loss, like I've squandered something very special. In fact I have. I've wasted time and even more, the gift that is my life on this earth. Discomfort is the voice that whispers "It's okay. You've had a long day. Go ahead and lay down." It holds out a beer, props up the throw pillows, and invites me to settle in.
What I've found interesting these last few nights is the transformation that occurs through pushing through this threshold. Not only do I find myself invigorated, but I find energies and courage to tackle the projects I've been putting off for a long time—this blog for example. I become somebody else and feel a great satisfaction from participating intentionally in my day. At the end of the last few nights, I've felt a true sense of tiredness—not the sluggish slothful grogginess that comes from indulging in comfort, but the tiredness that comes from being a participant in my life.
Discomfort looms in front of me like a bully. But if my eyes are open, I'll see it for what it is. An invitation to rise up and live my life fully.