08/27/2026
Discomfort is a curious thing.
When we are in the middle of it, our first instinct is often to get out as quickly as possible. We resist, distract, analyze, try to fix it, anything to make it feel a little less uncomfortable.
Perhaps discomfort holds just as much value as joy.
One is not meant to exist without the other.
Just like the inhale and exhale.
The ebb and flow of the tide.
The crest and release of a wave.
When we experience joy, we savour it. We linger. We soak up every last drop of that beautiful energy, wishing we could hold onto it just a little longer.
When a wave of discomfort comes, we often want to stop it.
We would never look at an ocean wave as it crests and think, How do I stop this from falling? We understand that this is simply what waves do. They rise, crest, fall, and eventually another one comes.
Maybe we are not so different. There is wisdom in both the rising and the falling.
Pain and discomfort are not easy places to be. Sometimes they just hurt. But if we can become still enough to breathe, to soften around what we are feeling, and stay present, even for a moment then we may begin to notice what lies underneath.
The stories we are telling ourselves.
The ways we see ourselves.
The beliefs we have carried for years.
The places where we are shrinking, protecting, resisting or being invited to show up more authentically and fully alive.
Perhaps within discomfort, we catch glimpses of our humanness and our divinity; the messy, imperfect, beautiful, and deeply interconnected.
And maybe this is where we begin to understand the beauty of impermanence.
Everything is constantly arising, changing, and dissolving.
I find it curious that my mind seems to chatter endlessly when I am uncomfortable, searching for answers and exits.
Yet in moments of joy, I can simply be.
I am not saying to love the discomfort, but to stop fighting it long enough to listen.
To become curious.
To breathe.
To trust that this wave, too, will change.
A curious thing indeed.
