The outer edge of people's comfort zone

Hey there!

A few days ago, I was at book club when I got the message: our offer on the house had been accepted. It was the turning point in a cross-country move that’s been in the works for months.

I shared the news out loud. Casually, I thought, but something in me was more exposed than I expected. I was excited, sure. But also raw, exhausted, and full of that nervous energy that comes with leaping before you know where you'll land.

The group congratulated me warmly. But when the conversation turned back to the book, I noticed something interesting.

One person made a comment about the main character’s indecision. “I just don’t get people like that,” she said. “If you want something, go get it. Don’t wait around. Don’t wait for someone to die or give you permission. Just go.”

It brushed up against something very real for me. I am in the midst of a major life transition and am making big bets. The suggestion that it’s just a matter of making a decision and following through felt very out of touch with reality.

“I don’t think it’s that simple,” I said. “Once you’re building a life with someone—especially with kids—the stakes are higher. There is real risk in making big decisions that upend the way your life operates.”

There were a few thoughtful nods, and the conversation moved on. But I didn’t. I stayed in that moment, turning it over.

Maybe I was taking it personally. But I also think: when we critique how a character handles uncertainty or change, shouldn’t we ask ourselves the same questions?

That’s what I do. If something in a story makes me uncomfortable, I try to look at what it’s revealing in me—what I avoid, what I desire, what I still don’t feel brave enough to do.

I didn’t say all the things I could’ve said.

That behind this move was 9 months worth of late-night mind racing, spreadsheets, hard conversations, and soul searching (and that we’d gone through this the previous 2 years for other opportunities that didn’t pan out).

It wasn’t just picking a house—it was a reimagining of what life could look like, and who we want to be within it.

That this change is full of uncertainty, and still, we’re doing it.

I don’t expect people to see all of that. But still, it struck me: how quick we are to simplify someone’s choice once the outcome looks settled.

As if courage is only visible at the starting line, and not in the months—or years—it takes to get there.

Pattern of making people uncomfortable

I’ve noticed something over and over again in my life:

When I share honestly about something that’s hard—about fear, risk, uncertainty—people often rush to reassure me.

“You’ll be fine.”

“You always land on your feet.”

“Your life is amazing, what are you even worried about?”

It sounds like encouragement. But most of the time, it feels like erasure.

A coach recently helped me see something important: many people don’t want to hear about what’s hard, not because they don’t care, but because they don’t want to confront what they’ve been avoiding in their own lives.

They want me to be fine so they don’t have to feel what it might mean to be not fine in their own skin.

They want my story to be palatable, tidy.

And I don’t live a tidy life.

The truth is, I operate beyond the edges of most people’s comfort zones.

I leave jobs that no longer fit.

I start businesses and close them.

I take ideas and actually try them out in the real world.

I walk toward reinvention instead of away from it.

It means I have (or have developed) a high tolerance for uncertainty. It means I’m willing to say “I want more” even when everything looks “fine” from the outside. It means I’ve developed an ability to speak from the middle of a transformation—not just after it’s resolved.

And that, I’m learning, can feel destabilizing for others.

How this plays out in creative endeavors

Recently, I told a trusted friend about a new creative project I’m working on. I was excited. Vulnerable. Honest about my vision—and also the fear and procrastination that came up when I sat down to actually do it.

Their mood shifted. Their tone turned dismissive. Like I was bothering them just by having an idea and acting on it. There was no encouragement. No curiosity. Just a subtle sense of resistance.

It made me feel small.

But here’s what’s different now: I saw it for what it was.

Their reaction had nothing to do with my idea. It had everything to do with what my trying stirred up in them.

So I gave myself what they couldn’t: belief.

The kind of belief that says, “Even if no one else sees it yet, I do.”

The kind of belief that says, “My desire to create is worth protecting.”

The kind of belief that says, “I will not abandon myself just to stay digestible.”

Because that’s the hard truth of living a creative life: no matter how much external support you have, you still have to choose yourself first.

Choose yourself first to stay creative

If you’re someone who’s building a life that doesn’t follow the script, I just want to say:

I see you.

You’re not crazy for feeling overwhelmed. You’re not dramatic for needing to talk about the middle. And you’re not ungrateful for wanting something more, even when things look “good enough” from the outside.

You’re just someone who lives beyond the comfort zone—and that means you’re already rewriting the rules.

So keep going. Even when they don’t get it. Even when they look away. Even when they call it “easy” or “lucky” or say: “just go for it.”

You’re doing something most people only dream of: You’re living on purpose. And that will always be worth it.

Warmly,
Jennifer

P.S. I want to acknowledge that I’m incredibly lucky to have people in my life who truly get it—who meet my honesty with openness, who encourage my ideas, who offer grounded presence when things feel messy. Not everyone has that, and I don’t take it for granted.

But I’ve also learned that living and working in a way that challenges convention means I have to be intentional about where I seek support. It’s not about judging others or needing everyone to understand—it's about knowing myself well enough to recognize what kind of encouragement allows me to stay brave, and what kind of silence makes me shrink.

If you’ve felt that tension too, you’re not alone.

Poll, Prompt & Recap

Journal prompt: 

Where in my life am I downplaying my depth or experience to make others more comfortable? What would it feel like to stay fully present in my truth, even if it makes someone else uncomfortable?

3 Daily Habits

Here are 3 weeks of recaps! Between being sick, spring break, then house hunting and offer making—writing got put on the back burner. But, for maybe the first time, I can see it for what it is. I feel self-compassion and understanding. I recognize that of course I didn’t have time to write my novel, write this newsletter and stick with my other rhythms while life was requiring much more from me. At the same time, having the rhythms defined feels so much more approachable to get started again as I have time and bandwidth.

4 Weekly Habits

Thank you for reading! I appreciate you!

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