What If the Things That Make Us Feel Safe Are Making Our Lives Smaller?

Personal DevelopmentBoundaries & Self Trust

Sep 24

I almost didn’t go.

I wanted to go, which is what makes the amount of time I spent debating it kind of ridiculous. The event sounded interesting. I had already imagined myself there. But no one else wanted to go, and suddenly what had seemed like a simple decision became a much bigger one. Did I really want to go by myself? Did I want to make the 30 minute drive in possible traffic? Would it feel awkward? Would everyone else be there with someone? Maybe I should just skip it and find something easier to do.

The event was called MindTravel, a live musical experience designed to be a personal journey on the beach. Everyone wears headphones while piano music is played live directly into the headsets. It was exactly the kind of thing that interested me, and still I went back and forth about whether I should go simply because I would be going alone.

Eventually, I got tired of having the conversation with myself and decided to buy the ticket and go. The funny thing is that as soon as I started to pull out of my driveway, I knew I had made the right decision. The fear was gone.

Not because anything about the event had changed. I still didn't know exactly what it would be like. I was still going alone. I still had to arrive, figure out where to go and walk onto the beach by myself.

The only thing that had changed was that I had committed. I had stopped negotiating with myself. And apparently that was the hardest part.

When I arrived, I found my way to the sand, set up my chair and surveyed my surroundings. The sun was shining, the wind was blowing and it was one of those beautiful afternoons that immediately makes you glad you left the house. There were plenty of groups of people, but there were also people there alone. Another reminder that sometimes when we think we’re the only one, we aren’t.

I sat down, took in the scene, and smiled. I had arrived, not just at the event, but at the edge of my comfort zone. By stepping beyond it, even just a little, I had made more room for possibility. And that felt really good.

Nothing dramatic had happened: I had simply driven to an event and sat alone on the beach. Yet after all the time I had spent thinking about it beforehand, I couldn’t help but laugh at how easy it felt once I was actually there.

It reminded me of a lesson I keep relearning: doing something is rarely as uncomfortable as imagining it. If the experience itself isn’t holding us back, what is?

When Discomfort Starts Creating Doubt

I have been noticing this in other areas of my life too.

There was a concert ticket I wanted to buy and somehow turned into a major decision. I've done the same thing with trying a new spin class. Neither situation is particularly consequential, yet give me enough unknowns and suddenly I can make either one feel like it requires a strategic plan.

Where will I park? What will it be like? Will I know anyone? Will I like it? What if I don't?

The questions sound practical enough, but most of them aren't really about parking or whether I'll enjoy a class. They're about wanting to know what I'm walking into before I walk into it.

And lately I've been wondering: What if some of the things we do to feel safe are the very things making our lives smaller?

There are obviously things in life we should protect ourselves from, risks worth considering, people we should be careful around and decisions that deserve thought. But that isn't what I'm talking about.

I’m talking about the way discomfort can create doubt, and how quickly that doubt can turn into questions and fears that may or may not be reasonable.

Walking into a room alone can feel uncomfortable. Trying something when you don't know exactly how it works can feel uncomfortable. Going somewhere without knowing whether you'll have a great time can feel uncomfortable.

And discomfort has a way of creating doubt. The doubt starts asking questions, and before long those questions can become reasons not to go at all. Some are practical. Some are fear dressed up as practicality. I don’t think I have always made that distinction.

I like information. I like knowing what's going to happen. I like having a plan, and I can usually come up with a pretty convincing argument for why gathering a little more information is simply the responsible thing to do.

Sometimes it is. Sometimes, though, I think it becomes a very sophisticated way of staying exactly where I am.

The Stories That Keep Us Stuck

That has been an interesting thing for me to recognize because my life does not look particularly fearful from the outside. I am friendly. I talk to people. I travel. I try things. I have made big changes in my life and handled plenty of things I never expected to have to handle.

And yet I can still create very confined boundaries around myself without realizing I'm doing it.

My comfort zone doesn't always look like staying home under a blanket. Sometimes it looks like waiting until someone else wants to go. Sometimes it looks like researching something until the moment passes. Sometimes it looks like telling myself I'll do it next time when what I really mean is, I'll do it when there are fewer unknowns.

Those stories can sound incredibly reasonable. I'm tired. I don’t have anyone to watch the dog. Maybe next time.

And none of those things are necessarily untrue. The problem is when they become the stories we automatically reach for whenever something asks us to step outside what we already know or what feels comfortable.

Because eventually the only thing standing between us and a fuller life may be our own limited thinking about what we can or can't comfortably do.

That's what that afternoon reminded me. I wasn't waiting for circumstances to change. I was waiting to feel comfortable enough to go. But the comfort came after I went.

What If The Beauty Is In Not Knowing?

Sitting on the sand at MindTravel as the sun began to set that afternoon, I wrote down a question that has stayed with me:

What if the beauty is in not knowing?

This is not necessarily a sentence that comes naturally to someone who often needs every detail outlined and a backup plan just in case.

But I'm becoming more interested in the idea of the beauty of not knowing. Because there is something exciting about possibility.

The people we haven't met yet are unknown. The places we haven't gone are unknown. New friendships, new experiences, new work, new versions of ourselves, all of it asks us to step into something before we know exactly what we're going to get back.

If we knew how every experience was going to turn out, there wouldn't be much room for surprise. There wouldn't be that unexpected conversation, the place we nearly didn't go, the thing we tried on a whim or the afternoon we almost talked ourselves out of.

There is an irony in trying so hard to protect ourselves from disappointment, awkwardness or uncertainty that in doing so we also protect ourselves from possibility. I don't want to do that anymore.

Living fully doesn't mean saying yes to everything, making reckless decisions or forcing ourselves into things we genuinely don’t want to do.

Personally I want to pay more attention to the space between I want to and but...

Whatever comes after the but is interesting. Is it a real reason not to go or is it simply unfamiliar? Because those are two very different things.

Maybe I Need A Take Myself Out Tuesday

I've actually been thinking about creating something I'm calling Take Myself Out Tuesday.

Nothing elaborate. No pressure to make it impressive or Instagram-worthy. Just a regular practice of going somewhere, trying something or exploring something new because I can and because I want to.

Maybe it's a class. Maybe it's music somewhere I've never been. Maybe it's lunch, a walk, an exhibit, a beach I've driven past a hundred times or something I hear about that simply makes me curious.

The point isn't really Tuesday. The point is making exploration more normal.

I don't want doing something on my own or trying something unfamiliar to feel like an event in itself. I want it to become part of how I live. I want curiosity to be the norm rather than the outlier.

Because every time I cross one of these very small boundaries, something opens. Not dramatically. Usually just a smidge. But a smidge is enough.

A slightly bigger comfort zone. A little more confidence in myself. Another reminder that I don't need to know exactly what happens next in order to begin or enjoy the moments as they unfold.

There are so many doors to walk through, places to see, people to meet and experiences I haven't had yet. I don't want my first response to possibility to be figuring out all the reasons it might be uncomfortable.

I want to get better at recognizing when the only thing in my way is a story I've been telling myself, one that may have once helped me feel safe but is now keeping me stuck.

Because sometimes the hardest part really is pulling out of the driveway.

And once you do, you realize you were ready all along.

“Less Noise. More You.”

— Sandra Daniele

A gentle note from me

Everything I share here comes from my own lived experience and the work I am actively doing in my own life. This space is for reflection, encouragement, and gentle practice — it is not therapy, medical advice, or a substitute for professional mental health care. If something in this post lands heavier than you expected, or surfaces something that feels bigger than a tender moment, please reach out to a licensed therapist, counselor, or trusted healthcare provider. Coaching is a beautiful complement to that kind of support, never a replacement for it.

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