Low diatribe

Some pressure crushes you. Some pressure sharpens you. We tend to lump both kinds of discomfort together, but they couldn't be more different. One is meaningless suffering. The other is the itch that tells you it's time to grow.

I figured this out during a time when I was deeply unhappy at work but couldn't explain why. The job was fine. The people were nice. The pay was adequate. But something felt wrong, like wearing a shirt that was the right size but the wrong cut. It took months to realize the discomfort wasn't a problem to fix. It was information to act on.

One of the things I've learned about myself along the way is my natural tendency is to choose comfort. I've stayed in relationships longer than was healthy because I wasn't ready to have a difficult conversation. I've stayed at jobs where my motivation waned and it became a mindless series of clocking in and clocking out, but it paid the bills. Left to my own devices, I'll often choose the familiar over the necessary.

It took months of amplifying discomfort before I finally started to listen. The discomfort was telling me I had outgrown the role. Not because the work was beneath me. Because I wasn't being challenged in ways that mattered. Comfort had become a cage. The itch I felt wasn't irritation. It was my growth edge trying to get my attention.

Once I listened, I was spurred to act on it. But that was unusual for me. Most of the time I need a little nudge.

I'm fortunate to have married an amazing and strong woman who doesn't abide comfort-seeking thinking. "Comfort is a slow death" is one of her favorite quotes. She has a way of gently nudging me past my own resistance when I can't find the catalyst for change myself.

A handful of years ago, we were in Chicago and visited the Lynwood roller rink, the one featured in Roll Bounce as "Sweetwater." I was mesmerized by the Chicago skaters. Small, fast, intricate dance moves, all on skates, sometimes backwards. JB skating, they called it, after James Brown's moves. This was beyond anything I had ever experienced. When we got back home, my wife found a local skate group that taught JB style and told me I should go if I really liked it.

I resisted. I hemmed and hawwed like Eeyore. It's easier to stay home, watch Roll Bounce, and wish I could skate than drive an hour to an unfamiliar rink and try to talk to strangers. But my wife has a way of talking me into doing things.

I sat in the parking lot for ten minutes debating whether to just go home. The thought of telling her I chickened out was worse than the anxiety I felt about going in. I held my breath as I walked through the door. A young man looked up from tying his skates with a big smile. "Are you here to SK8?" he asked, and the way he said it made me hear "SK8" in my head. "Yes," I replied. "I'm Devonte," he said. "Welcome to the Cuttaz."

Since that day, I've spent hundreds of hours with that crew and now help the founder run it. I couldn't imagine my life without the Cuttaz. I would have walked away if not for my wife gently nudging me towards discomfort.

This is the paradox of development. The discomfort we avoid is often the signal we most need. But not all discomfort is the same. Some stretches you forward. Some grinds you down. One pulls you toward growth. The other pushes you toward breakdown.

I learned to tell the difference by paying attention to the direction of the energy. Growth-oriented discomfort pulls you forward, even when it's scary. It feels like possibility mixed with uncertainty. Destructive discomfort pushes you down. It makes you smaller and more defensive.

The discomfort of learning a skill is not the same as working for someone who does not respect you. A tough conversation is not the same as a toxic relationship. Taking on new responsibility is not the same as drowning in meaningless tasks. One type of discomfort is an invitation. The other is a warning.

This principle ripples to all edges of life, but it doesn't mean deliberately choosing the hardest possible path. There is a difference between productive challenge and pointless struggle.

I learned this lesson as a college freshman deciding how to fulfill a foreign language requirement. I had taken three years of high school French, so continuing with French would have been straightforward. Instead, I thought it would be cool to tackle Russian. I thought choosing the harder path would challenge me to grow more. I didn't last a quarter.

The lesson was not that I should avoid challenge. It was that challenge needs to be calibrated. Too easy and you stagnate. Too hard and you break. The sweet spot is just beyond your current reach but still within your grasp.

Being intentional about discomfort means choosing which struggles serve who you want to become. The most fulfilling periods of my career have also been the most uncomfortable. Not because I enjoy discomfort. Because it was the price of admission to the next level of capability.

The key is choosing your discomfort before it chooses you. If you don't, the market shifts and makes your skills obsolete. Relationships stagnate. Health declines from neglect. Opportunities pass you by while you wait for a perfect moment that never comes. The discomfort you avoid today becomes the crisis you face tomorrow.

At least when you choose discomfort, you control the timing, the context, and the support system. You can prepare for it. Learn from it. Grow through it. When discomfort chooses you, it arrives at the worst moment with no regard for readiness.

The people closest to you will influence this choice. Some will push you toward comfort out of love. Others will push you toward discomfort out of love. The difference is whether they see your potential or your fragility.

Protective allies want to spare you pain. They discourage the risky business, the challenging job, the stretch role. Growth allies see when your comfort zone has become a prison. They nominate you for roles you don't think you're ready for. They call you out when you're making excuses. They push you to get out and skate.

Both types of allies care about you. Only one helps you become who you're meant to be. Sometimes we need external accountability when internal motivation isn't enough. Learning to recognize and value the growth allies in your life shapes how you approach development.

Intentional development means choosing to be a beginner at something that matters. Seeking feedback that stings but sharpens you. Taking on responsibilities just beyond your reach. Having conversations that feel vulnerable but necessary.

The discomfort of growth is temporary and directional. It has purpose and an endpoint. The discomfort of avoiding growth is permanent and circular. It keeps you stuck exactly where you do not want to be.

When I look back at the hardest seasons of my career, the pattern is obvious. The projects that scared me most taught me the most. The roles that felt too big helped me grow into them. The conversations I wanted to avoid were the ones that mattered most.

What matters is choosing your own discomfort before it chooses you, and finding the kind that builds you rather than breaks you.

Dedicated to everyone who has given me the momentum I've needed to overcome my own inertia over the years, especially my wife. I wouldn't be who I am without you.