Getting uncomfortable

Growing. Literally and figuratively.

An entire subculture of Instagram self-help gurus has risen to prominence. Experts on diet, cooking, organization, crafting, exercise, art, mental health, every religion you can think of, and even how to parent (or not) all give their best advice in perfectly curated muted tonal photos. They are characters designed to assert expertise while staying on *just this side* of accessible. Most make you think, "I could do that, maybe. Probably not."

If, like me, merely thinking about Instagram experts makes you tired, imagine actually being one of them. I have no idea how they do it. The fact many are in their 20s seems to help. I, too, felt like I had endless wells of expertise and energy in my 20s. I guess I needed real life to knock a few of the edges off.

Instagram experts often make me look at their advice and perfectly curated lives with an attitude of "Awww, isn't that cute?" But, it's fun to think about what their ideas would mean for my own life. I could have meals perfectly prepped and quiet, non-destructive children (HA). I could even have a house expertly designed and perfectly lit at all times. I might finally bust that post-baby belly that never seemed to bounce back after the second one. Or not. At least the pictures sure are pretty.

Scrolling the other day, I saw one of those cliche advice image memes shared by yet another over-eager 20-something know-it-all: "You have to get uncomfortable in order to grow," she posted over a perfect photo of the yoga pose she struck in full makeup and flawless hair. Thanks, "AshlynnTheTrainer" (not her real name) maybe I'll take that advice to heart.

I wonder precisely how uncomfortable Ashlynn has ever gotten with her 20-year-old metabolism. Come back after two children and talk to me about getting out of my comfort zone, Child.

Speaking of getting uncomfortable, baby goats could come as early as three weeks from today, and a few of the mamas are getting fat fat. I think (hope) that Bella is clown carring a passel of babies in there for me based on how big she already is. She has had two singletons and a set of twins the first three times she had kids. I hope she's ready to finally give us triplets.

As we head closer to babies, the sunny 50-degree-days have been replaced by a winter that started in earnest. Winter decided to taunt me with a mild start to get my hopes up. If there's one axiom of goat ownership, it's that kids will come in the middle of the night during the worst snowstorm.

Right now, being uncomfortable means that the girls and I only have a few weeks to prepare.

They will prepare by eating everything they can find.

I'll prepare by cleaning out the indoor pens, getting fresh straw, washing all the towels and linens, doing a final round of booster shots, getting all the girls vitamins, and then staying up all day and all night constantly checking the baby monitors until kids come.

I like their job better.

But, we have to get uncomfortable to grow. I know the massive work and the long nights and the cold that attacks every inch of exposed skin will be worth it. When I hold those first fuzzy babies, I forget about everything else. The discomfort will melt away in the march onward.

Although I didn't make any formal New Year's resolutions this year (that seemed a little too aggressive) I am still trying to do better on the margins of my life. I'm trying to be braver, advocate for myself more effectively, and "put myself out there."

Over the last few weeks, I've sent some emails asking for favors or advice I wouldn't have had the constitution to send a year ago. I've written more and different pieces and am pushing the boundaries of where I'm comfortable operating.

I've noticed something in these new attempts: hitting the "publish" or "send" button comes with an almost physical reaction. I'm experiencing an odd kind of tension that is so real it almost hurts.

Starting this Substack was a reaction to a situation that felt out of my control, and there is no question it was a decision based on fear. I don't want to have to get laid off or have some other major life catastrophe to take the next bold steps in my life. Every week, posting here becomes more of a habit, and I love it a little more. There has to be a way to do the next thing, like this newsletter, without running from something else.

So, I'm trying to make fewer reactionary decisions and more affirmative choices. That means, though, that I have to harness the same kind of energy that has motivated previous steps, just without the pre-disaster. Apparently, that energy manifests itself into anxiety when putting the thing out into the world.

Why is birthing something new so stressful? I should ask the goats.

So, maybe AshlynnTheTrainer, with her great metabolism, has a point. Still, moreover, maybe my goats really have the point: growth and putting new things into the world is a painful process, and we will get uncomfortable.

The new moms on our farm will softly bleat to their new babies, unaware of anything else in the world other than that beautiful creature they just made. Ashlynn will eventually hit her 30s and learn she had no idea what she was talking about. I will finally hit the "publish" button after some unnecessary self-flagellation. Getting uncomfortable is worth it.