Usually the now is comfortable. It may not be perfect and there is probably a lot of complaining that goes on, but it is comfortable. There is a lot of effort needed to try something new.
I write these things from a very direct perspective. I've done comfortable and it's nice, for a while. These days I am able to know when I am getting stagnant and then I have the opportunity to question whether or not that is where I want to be. Sometimes there isn't anything wrong with a little stagnation.
In a couple weeks I am going to really break out of the comfort zone on so many levels. I'm not so immovable right now that this is such a jolt to the system. It is such a dramatic shift though that I am a tad uneasy.
One way I calm my nerves is preparation. If I feel I'm prepared and that I am ready for what I expect to be the unexpected (can we really prepare for the 'unexpected', otherwise isn't it expected, albeit improbable?). I am finding sources to help me, from the internet to the library, from friends to learned scholars--dead and alive. And the nerves slowly dissipate, especially as I reassure myself that failure isn't an option. Not because I am such a perfectionist, far from it in fact. Because I am human and flaw is part of my character. If I know going in I have given it my all, failure just isn't.
Granted there are varying degrees of success. And it is these higher levels of success which I first wrote about. Do my nerves really stem from not doing well or from doing too well? What if I find that I not only really enjoy this new endeavor, but also excel at it? What does that mean for the place I am currently? Can I honestly allow myself to suppress these new findings just because it is different? Boldly going where I have never gone before, at least not really. Kind of like when someone asks you if you've been to a certain state and you had a short lay-over in the main airport there, does that really count as having visited the state? That is what this feels like to me in a bizarre analogy.
The unknown is so scary. I find it interesting that I am thinking about these things just as Pesach is upon me/us. Here is my connection to my ancestors, in a very abstract way. They left Mitzrayim after a few hundred years because comfortable became too tragic to bear and someone, Moshe, gave them the push to overcome inertia. And suddenly they find themselves seemingly alone wandering the desert wondering what is next, questioning the decision to leave—oh how quickly we forget. Sure Mitzrayim was icky and all, and endless manna is nice, but what next. Once we find why we’re wandering, how do we approach it? Once I say, I am done stagnating and I flounder a bit, where do I end up? The unknown should not cause paralysis, I should not be (and will not be) held hostage by my fears. I find that this might be the ultimate in personal freedom.
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