“The courage to die is the test of the courage to be”
– Paul Tillich

I remember one day, when I was very young, sitting on the beach, trailing my fingers through the sand and basking in the warm sun. My oldest brother was trying to convince me to go into the water with him. I didn’t want to. The water was cold, and the waves were scary. Why couldn’t we just stay on the nice sand? Everything was so pleasant. Why go into the scary water? I fussed and resisted. I didn’t want to, and I told him so. My brother insisted. He admitted that the sand was warm and comfortable, but he wanted me to experience something even better and more exciting out in the water and waves. The rest of the memory is a blur, but I remember that moment so well because of the feeling associated with it. I simultaneously felt intense fear of the unknown combined with a deep regret at not facing the unknown. I somehow knew my brother was right, but I wanted the sand instead. I wanted the comfort.

Cold water stings. It’s uncomfortable. The moment one’s toes slip into the cold, the mind screams to turn around and return to the safe and warm sand. Many do. Many come to the ocean and slip their toes in, but they will quickly give in to that little shock of discomfort and never venture further. But for those who go further, who resist the urge to turn back, they are rewarded with something wonderful: the feeling of diving head first into icy waters, becoming engulfed in weightless liquid, and finally emerging from underneath the cold waves with a defiant breath of fresh air.  If you’ve experienced this, you know what I mean. It’s the rush that comes from conquering a moment of fear with sheer willpower because of the expectation and hope of something greater on the other side. Eventually I dove into that water and experienced the thing my brother wanted to share with me. After a while I even began to look forward to it.  Today I consider the ocean a second home and I love every minute that I’m able to be in or near it. It has become a place of comfort, joy, and rejuvenation for me, regardless of the season.

This experience has become an apt metaphor for my life.

I often experience two competing desires: the desire for safety and the desire for something exceptional.  One promises comfort; the other promises challenge and struggle coupled with the potential for real danger and real failure.  I want things to be easy, convenient, and fast. But there’s another desire that lives within me, and that’s the idealist that wants to climb mountains and conquer the world. Often my inner world feels like a battle between the desire for comfort and the desire for excellence. When faced with the hard road or the easy road, without even consciously thinking about it, I’ve often chosen the easy road. It’s always been easier to stay in the warm sand, so to speak, rather than brave the cold ocean.  I’d rather be comfortable, so I’ll stick with what I know.

The paradox here is that enduring comfort, ease, and peace cannot be found if that’s the only thing we’re pursuing.  If you are always looking for the easy road, for the least effort, and for the most comfort, every road eventually becomes too difficult as you accustom yourself to avoiding difficult things.  On the contrary, if you are willing to brave the hard path, the windy trail, the high mountain, you will eventually develop the kind of strength and endurance that allows you to feel strong and at ease, even in the midst the most difficult obstacles. Weight lifters can bear heavy loads because they constantly push the limits of their bodies and muscles, whereas someone who never goes to a gym might find it difficult to carry even a modest burden.  This is true for our bodies, but it is especially true for our emotional and mental well being. In order to actually find peace and comfort, we have to be willing to face their opposite willingly and deliberately. The hard road is ultimately the road that makes us strong.

I realized one day that I had unconsciously placed my feelings into two different categories, the good feelings and the bad feelings.  On the side of the good feelings were things like comfort, peace, ease, and calm.  On the side of the bad feelings were things like fear, anxiety, doubt, and unease.  I wanted to feel the good feelings and avoid the bad ones. Unfortunately this false dichotomy prevented me from seeing how the “bad” feelings like fear, doubt, and the rest were actually incredibly useful in the right context because of their ability to make me alert, to recognize danger, to ready myself for action, and most of all, to highlight opportunity for growth. It also prevented me from seeing how the “good” feelings sometimes prevented me from growing or facing reality.

Fear, unease, and doubt weren’t bad at all. It was my judgement of their value that was bad. In fact these things are often required ingredients for growth.

This realization transformed the way I relate to fear, anxiety, discomfort, and risk.  I used to hate all of these things. I would avoid them whenever I could. Of course I still feel aversion to these things today, but, my relationship to it has changed, because I now understand that fear, anxiety, and discomfort are the signposts of growth.  When I feel fear, anxiety, and discomfort, it is an invitation to push the boundaries of what I am comfortable with and become a stronger and more resilient human being. I’ve learned that the experience of fear does not disqualify one from courageous action. I’ve learned that it’s possible to experience the full weight of fear, but act anyways. It is possible to face mountains that feel too big and decide to climb them regardless. When you abandon the judgement that fear and anxiety are bad and must be avoided, you suddenly find that you can live in harmony with fear and anxiety and even view them as trusted companions along the path to growth, rather than obstacles to be avoided at all costs. Courageous acts are never accomplished without fear. Rather they are accomplished in spite of fear and alongside it. As I’ve internalized this truth, I’ve found it to be intensely liberating, especially for someone like me who often has a tendency to overthink and under-do.

If you have a story about overcoming fear or finding peace in unlikely places, I’d love to hear it. Leave a comment or send me an email. Sometimes hearing other’s stories helps us find our own courage.