You Can Choose Courage Or Comfort, But Not Both
The soft beat pumping from an electronic drum synthesizer syncs to the rhythm of thumb taps on a steering wheel. The windows down, I stare into an orange and pink sunset bathing the highway in nostalgia reminiscent to Miami Vice. All I need is a sport jacket and pair of oversized aviator sunglasses to complete the moment. The music, now approaching the chorus, digs at old scars from my youth as I try to stuff the melancholy now creeping into the passenger seat.
In high school, my friends and I had a false panel hidden in a friend’s bathroom where we’d store warm Budweiser. After school, we’d remove the panel, pour a single beer over ice, hop into our trucks, and drive into a nearby field. The sun would set, bathing the grass and sand in the same pinks and orange. We’d sit on the end of our tailgates — beer now cold and water logged — joking about school or revealing our short list of the latest crushes. Sometimes we’d say nothing, watching the sun set low, while pretending we liked the taste of beer.
The memory made me sad as the synth keyboard now hummed the same heartache. Alone in the car instead of on a tailgate with friends, I reached for my phone to see who texted. The movement was almost unconscious. After all, our phones have trained us that when alone there’s now an endless source of “connection.” Text messages. Facebook. Instagram. Apps. News. While attempting to pull myself from the clutches of a somber moment, my car drifted into the other lane.
A high pitched beeeeeeeeeeeeeeep made me jump as I over-corrected, swerving back into my lane. Embarrassed, I remembered how often I preach “no texting and driving” only to recognize my hypocrisy. The electric guitar agreed as wailing notes matched the driver’s countenance in my rearview mirror. I waved to signal “my bad.”
One would think we’d leave such an incident to the forgotten corners of day-to-day life. Most of us can’t help ourselves from reaching for the phone even when we’re driving. But turning the moment over in my mind the past several months has produced deeper questions. Why was I afraid to be alone with my feelings? Why do I feel I have to be constantly entertained instead of engaging in discomfort? When adversity strikes why do most of us tap out instead of leaning in?
During my first ever soccer game at age six, I ran off the field crying two minutes after kickoff. This left a hole among the midfielders, and my coach had to scramble to put in a sub while the opposing team marched toward the goal. For whatever reason, I found the environment too overwhelming and got scared. Though I practiced with my team for a month, when the game rolled around, I crumbled. My parents sat on the sidelines confused, as I hadn’t been injured. When I explained I didn’t want to play soccer, they were there to comfort me, but explained that I had to face my fears. By the second half, I was out on the field again. I played for five minutes, then ran off crying once more. This process continued for three more games, until I finally played the entire match. We got pizza afterwards to celebrate, and within a few years I would earn the coveted MVP award when I became the team’s goalie, helping pave the way to a championship.
According to Pew Research, the number one trait parents across all walks of life want for their children — no matter age, race, or political leaning — is responsibility. Among mothers, empathy and persistence are the top two traits they want their kids to have. What’s ironic is that we want responsibility, empathy, and persistence in our kids, but as teens and adults it’s okay to shirk those traits. We even have memes for our slacker attitudes — “please don’t make me adult today.”
Looking back at how my parents enforced persistence for character development, I have to wonder when it became acceptable to cave when you want to run off the field of life? We love silly platitudes that make us feel better about giving up, so we say things like “It’s okay to not be okay” but leave off the importance of growth. Who in their right mind wants to “not be okay” forever? Don’t we want to persist and grow? Don’t we want to be responsible and take action towards becoming mentally healthier and whole hearted humans?
It would appear not.
For instance, in a recent survey by Cigna health insurance, 54% of Americans claimed to be lonely, saying they chronically felt alone or that no one knew them. Among youth, the loneliness score is is 48.3, whereas those among the Greatest Generation — 72 and older — have a loneliness score of 38.6. The elderly are proving more resilient against loneliness than our youth. What gives? A simple observation into our daily lives provides the answer.
At dinner, people bury their face in a smartphone. When in an unfamiliar place waiting for someone, you’re not required to speak to those around you. Just whip out your phone and feel less awkward. Why talk to the cute girl or guy at the concert? There’s dating apps. Feeling sad in your car listening to music? Reach for your phone like I do. Our grandparents, however, were forced to face adverse situations head on — like the Great Depression and World War II — without the aid of stifling their sorrow into an electronic device. Today if I feel lonely, I’m not required to actually formulate new friendships and endure the awkwardness of introductions. That’s a tech company’s responsibility to develop a solution.
The grit needed to be responsible, courageous, and persistent we now leave in the hands of a capable few while we run off the field of life, hypocritically demanding our children be the ones to carry the character traits we don’t.
A neighbor’s daughter recently shipped off to the Air Force Academy in Colorado Springs, Colorado. Like most cadets and soldiers who go through boot camp, she struggled. One day she cried in chapel for an hour, defeated and wondering if she could endure. Her story reminded me of my own days in the military. No matter how many times I tried my hardest, I wasn’t strong enough, fast enough, or clean enough. While I didn’t know it at the time, my instructors were teaching me about responsibility and endurance.
But like all of us when faced with failure, hardship, and adversity the temptation is to give up. Why be responsible or endure when the path of least resistance is so much easier? Lonely? You’d tell your child or another person the importance of reaching out and making friends, wouldn’t you? But as adults it’s “just too hard and awkward” to put yourself out there. Dead end job? We remind children that difficult environments — even school — are places to stretch and grow. But as adults, we’re comfortable staying put and never rocking the boat.
Yet, when we look at a situation we find unbearable and examine our reasons why we can’t move forward, they’re often filled with our own excuses. Because it’s too hard. I’ll never succeed. I’ll get rejected. People will laugh. I don’t know enough. I’m not qualified.
The only cure is to show up, persevere, and get your ass handed to you in the process. You’ll run off the field a few more times. You’ll dump your emotions into a computer screen instead of embracing them. But this is also the key to courageous living, just like what we want for our friends and children. In Brené Brown’s recent Netflix hit, The Call to Courage, she reminds her listeners of this essential truth when living in the fighting arena of life:
When you show up and persevere, only then can you run back out on the field. Only then will you embrace melancholy moments in the car instead of reaching for a cheap substitute for connection.
The day I heard about my neighbor’s daughter and the struggles she was facing at the Academy, I asked to write her. I spoke of fear, failure, and even the moments when I gave up during my time in service. Then I closed the letter with advice a friend gave me. It’s the same thing I would tell you when you’re lonely, depressed, hurting, stuck at a crap job, or dismayed by life:
Keep going. Persevere despite the odds. Remember the warrior ethos — Never give up. Never accept defeat.
You got this.
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You Can Choose Courage Or Comfort, But Not Both
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