Stretching Outside My Comfort Zone
Stick me in a room full of kids or teens, and I’m comfortable. I’m in my comfort zone. I’ll listen, I’ll talk, laugh, feel as though I’m right where I belong. Ask me to go to a party or a gathering of adults, and it’s another story. I’ll probably say no, or I’ll go and hope that I can find someone who has the gift of gab. They’ll talk. I’ll listen.
The past few months, I’ve decided to make some changes. I knew I needed to stretch outside my comfort zone. I was spending too much time at home in front of the keyboard; I had to encourage myself to socialize with other adults and tackle new skills. I joined a Tribe Punch class at the gym, a book club, and enrolled in a class to learn Spanish.
The first night of book club I walked into a gorgeous house filled with women who were beautifully dressed and there I was in my jeans and sandals because comfort is my real middle name. Immediately my stress levels rose. A small dog sat next to my chair. I breathed. All I had to do was sit, listen and pet the dog. Then the conversation turned to me. There were questions about my books and questions about the book we were discussing. I was completely caught off guard because I saw myself as the quiet one, the listener, the observer, and for most of my life have gotten away with playing that role. Well, the women in book club wouldn’t have it. They wanted me to talk. Imagine that. They challenged my comfort zone. I know my face turned shades of red as I tried to explain why the featured book of the month wasn’t my cup of tea.
I worried about book club until our next meeting. Would I have to speak again? Should I even be in book club? The second house where we met was just as gorgeous as the first. A beautiful grand piano decorated the living room. I thought about the $900.00 out of tune used piano that sat in my living room. I decided there was no way book club would ever be at my house. I’d pay to host it at a restaurant. We ate, we drank, we talked, I left feeling a little more confident.
The third month I walked into another amazing house. At this point, I really began to question my lack of decorating skills. Was I supposed to have fancy pillows on my couches instead of built-in drink holders? How would I even begin to choose paintings for my wall? By the end of the night, I found myself belly laughing while listening to a speech about pantyhose and I realized these women in book club were pretty cool. Then it happened. They asked for a volunteer to be the next month’s host. Silence. I whispered, “I will.” My stomach clenched. My mind screamed nooooo, you have two giant dogs and not nearly enough seats for everyone. I went home in a panic.
This learning how to stretch by inviting twelve women, ten of whom I barely knew over to my animal-friendly (I have a small zoo) house was giving me an ulcer. My friends who’ve known me for years, seen my house at its best and worst, gave me the speech I had already been giving myself: It shouldn’t matter what your house looks like. They won’t care. Don’t compare yourself to others. Be yourself. Your house is fine. Why does it matter to you what others think? Blah, blah, blah… Yeah, that was all very uplifting, and I wished I could say I embraced it and was one hundred percent comfortable with myself but that wouldn’t be true. I needed a new living room! Shopping isn’t my thing, but I jumped in my car and headed to several furniture stores. After that, I decided my twenty-year-old valences were history, and my verticals had to go. Oh, and I found this awesome online store called Wayfair. By the end of the month, my living room had a new look. And I loved it! I realized how long I’d really wanted to redecorate, but never made it a priority. Book club forced me into action. Our meeting was another fun night of laughter, wine, and conversation.
We recently had our sixth gathering. I was dressed in jeans again and this time just as comfortable on the inside as I was on the outside which felt like a small miracle for me. I realized it was because of the wine. Just kidding. It was because of the women. They never let me sit without speaking because they cared enough to get to know me. And once they showed me, they cared, my anxiety began to fade. It had turned out that by facing my fear and forcing myself to stretch outside my comfort zone, I learned that the story I’d told myself for years, the one about me needing to stay away from social gatherings didn’t have to be true. I could add a plot twist one where I found myself surrounded by strong women, belly laughing, and making new friends.
