Comfortable being uncomfortable: Life in the grey zone
Plus, one haunting song, two book reviews, a Spanish-language course that actually works, and an ice cream stop worthy of a PNW road trip to weird Idaho
When I turned fifty, at the initial outset of the pandemic, I adopted a new life motto: I am comfortable being uncomfortable. At the time, it was only an idea, a concept that sounded good, at least in theory. After all, contrary to the clamor of conservative voices all around me, I was willing to don an uncomfortable piece of cloth over my nose and mouth if it might protect someone with a weaker immune system. I’d been to Japan. People there do it all the time for something as simple as a little sniffle. My new life motto also meant I was ok with figuring out how connect with my students online—while living in a fifth wheel trailer. This motto meant I was happy with questionable street tacos ordered awkwardly in broken Spanish and didn’t need the cushy booth of a nice restaurant. Comfortable being uncomfortable, I claimed, with a side of arrogance.
Of course, it wasn’t true.
When I claimed that motto, I was simply acknowledging the fact that some things that were uncomfortable for others were not uncomfortable for me. My motto was easy to claim because I wasn’t actually uncomfortable—at least not yet.
As is par for the course, though, as soon as I began to quote my new motto, I found more and more reasons to need it. My life got increasingly uncomfortable. And being truly uncomfortable is, well, uncomfortable. We are programmed to seek comfort. Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness (aka comfort); it’s the American way, right? As my life got downright uncomfortable, though, I had to reconsider whether this motto was going to stick or not.
Fortunately (or unfortunately), I am a little bit stubborn and competitive. If you know me well, you may have just spit out your coffee. Ok, so maybe I am a LOT stubborn and competitive. I had declared a new motto in life, and I was going to stick to it. I wasn’t actually comfortable being truly uncomfortable, but I was willing to pitch my tent and camp in the places of discomfort when needed, and not try to wriggle my way out of them. Time and again, I fought the urge to run from the places in my life where I felt significant unease—and there were many.
When our teaching jobs became increasingly complicated, moving us back and forth—from our classrooms in Oregon to teaching from home in our fifth wheel trailer, sometimes in Oregon and sometimes in Montana—we stayed with the careers we loved.
When the school said we would need to learn an entirely new digital platform for delivering online content and grading, we leaned into the headwind and stayed in the discomfort of learning the new and awkward style of teaching.
When many of our Christian friends in Montana turned on us because of our willingness to comply with government guidelines regarding the pandemic and public education, it hurt. We believed we were doing what God had called us to do but we were met with turned backs and disdain, or with debilitating vitriol and vicious verbal and written attacks. It was a time of great loss for us. The grieving impacted us greatly, but we pitched our tents; we were determined to live there, right in the midst of the discomfort.
When we eventually left our jobs as teachers so we could stay in Montana, we were at a loss, emotionally; our identity as teachers was so strong. But we needed to care for my husband Andy’s ailing father, and we also wanted to begin preparing for a life of full-time travel, a dream we’d had for years. My father-in-law’s needs were significant; he couldn’t do much of anything for himself anymore. I got a job to support us—selling appliances. I knew nothing about either sales or appliances. Touting the benefits of the new air filtration system on a Frigidaire left me cold compared to making a daily difference in students’ lives. Again, we were uncomfortable but willing to stay there.
When we brought on two boarders to rent rooms in our home and supplement our income, our very home—our haven—became a contentious place. The two housemates, unfortunately, were like oil and water to each other, and the tension level was barely survivable. I wish I were exaggerating. We set out to find solutions, but in the meantime, we just lived in the tension of it all. We were very uncomfortable but stuck together stubbornly and pounded down the stakes of our tent against the gale.
When our two children announced, within a few weeks of each other, that they were both changing their names and genders, we stayed. It was hard for us. Two years later, it still is, but we love our kids. We lost several more relationships over our decision to adjust to the new identities and continue loving our children in ways that clearly communicate love to them. There have been may heavy days in this time of transition and adjustment, questioning so many things and processing the losses of the former identities, as they were. Meanwhile, we learn new skills and new ways to love like Jesus. Are we doing it right? We don’t know. Even among fellow Christians, our more conservative friends would say we are going too far, while our more liberal friends would say we have not gone far enough. It is a grey zone, swirling with strong winds that threaten to knock us off our feet, but we have chosen to live there anyway.
At this point, at least to some extent, the winds have abated. Perhaps these storms have passed. Perhaps we are only in the eye of the hurricane. But for now, we feel relatively free. I quit my job at the appliance store a year ago to help care for Andy’s dad until he passed away. Neither of us went back to work after that—looking instead for ways to better monetize the resources we already had. We received and accepted an offer on our house before we were even actively looking to sell. We are nearly finished building out our travel rig, an expedition vehicle designed to take us all around the world. We are in the midst of selling, donating, or discarding nearly all our accumulated possessions. We can’t keep them as we prepare to live a cost-effective and energy-efficient lifestyle in a 16’ x 8’ box on the back of a truck, with no permanent location to call home. That lifestyle will not always be comfortable, of course, but more and more, we are comfortable being uncomfortable—or at least we are willing to camp out in the discomfort and not run from it.
Several years into living by this life motto, I am grateful for the mindset it has helped develop in me. When storms come, and they do come, we are less tempted to run than we used to be. Now, we tend to hunker down and ride them out—together—continually seeking God’s strength to do so.
What about you? Are there uncomfortable grey zone areas of your life, where you are feeling buffeted on all sides? How do you handle them? Do you have a life motto? If so, how has it impacted you? I’d love to continue the conversation in the comments section.
A haunting song and two book reviews
Although it was recorded in 1968, the first time I remember hearing—and actually paying attention to—Joni Mitchell’s song “Urge for Going” was only a year or two ago. I heard Tom Rush’s recording of it as a suggestion by Spotify. It’s unsettling sometimes, how well the algorithms know me. The song, with its slow, soft, haunting melody, stopped me in my tracks. The lyrics, filled with such raw yearning that ultimately goes unfulfilled, captured me. I come back to that song often, as a reminder of why we are chasing this dream of nomadic travel. I don’t want to end up wishing how things might have been (the saddest words, according to poet John Greenleaf Whittier and songwriter Steve Taylor). I want to get out there and do it before our health prevents it.
So, it is with that desire to keep our nomadic travel dreams alive and our hearts flexible and open, that Andy and I turned to a couple of inspiring audio books on a road trip to see our kids this past weekend.
First, we listened to Ten Years a Nomad: A Traveler’s Journey Home, by Matt Kepnes, the same Matt Kepnes from the expansive travel resource: NomadicMatt.com, as well as the essential backpacker’s guidebook, How to Travel the World on $50 a Day. In this book, Matt gives a first-hand account of his journey to nomad status. He starts as a young man lacking confidence, afraid of most activities attached to the word adventurous. Then one cautious and fearful trip turned into another less cautious one. Before long, he found himself quitting his job and morphing into a nomadic traveler and adventure junkie. He broke all the seemingly fixed rules about settling down to a sensible, responsible American life. And much to the dismay of his friends and family, he broke the rules with abandon. Toward the end of the book, though, Matt recounts his struggles with the lack of permanency and stability, particularly the lack of a long-term companion, someone with whom to share the joys and hardships of life. Thus began his journey back home. This second journey was, in many ways, harder than the first.
We enjoyed Matt’s book immensely, even though his youthful drinking and hook-up culture doesn’t (and never did) match up with our own sensibilities. Matt himself wearied of these vanities, too, according to the book. We did relate, however, to many of his yearnings and the misunderstandings of the family and friends at home; as well as his many tales of making plans, but then being flexible enough to discard them on a whim. In addition, we were encouraged by the fact that we have done the settled-down life he eventually longed for. We have had the careers and home and children and pets and garden—all the permanency markers he lacked as a young man. Best yet, we have in each other a willing and trusted partner with whom to share it all.
The second book we listened to was one we have both read before, but it is so practical and inspiring that it warranted another trip through its pages. Vagabonding: An Uncommon Guide to the Art of Long-Term World Travel, by Rolf Potts, is considered by many to be the finest introduction to life as a nomad. We would not disagree. In fact, I would recommend this book to anyone on any type of a journey through life. The profound wisdom Potts dispenses on such principles as traveling light, going slow, staying open to surprise, embracing boredom, celebrating disorientation, and spending less money—among others—would likely be impactful to anyone, not just those who wish to leave their typical American Dream life behind.
A Spanish-language course that actually works
If you are wishing you could improve your high school Spanish (or even learn some Spanish for the very first time) to the point where you are not afraid to actually use it in conversation, allow me to recommend an excellent audiobook to you. I have nearly completed the second set of lessons in the beginner’s course, which I opted for even though I would like to consider myself an intermediate Spanish speaker. Learn Spanish with Paul Noble for Beginners: Complete Course is available on Amazon for Audible and is well-worth the current asking price of $15.00.
The great thing about Paul’s system is his slow progression and incessant asking of questions you feel compelled to answer. Plus, you can back up anytime you need to try something again. Progress comes very naturally, and you will be amazed to hear the complex sentences flowing so easily from your lips in such a short time. You don’t need much, if any, background in the language to get started—though you might want to learn the numbers one through ten if you don’t know them yet.
You must be willing to speak the words aloud, though, for this course to work. If you have a daily commute, or other time to yourself, this is a great resource, but if you are just going to listen and not speak, don’t waste your time or money. It won’t work. I find I can do other mindless tasks at the same time, too. Doing dishes, cleaning house, gardening, all these things can be done with the hands while the brain—and voice—are busy learning Spanish.
This course will not help as much with reading and writing, but if speaking is your goal, it is an excellent system. I look forward to starting on the intermediate course after I finish this one.
Weird Idaho: An ice cream stop worthy of a PNW road trip
Idaho is such a weird state. When we drive south to see our kids in Utah, we cross Idaho. When we drive west to see our family north of Seattle, we also cross Idaho. But the shape is not the only thing weird about Idaho. In fact, Idaho seems to revel in its oddities. They are so proud of their potatoes, they literally brag about them on their license plates.
The Potato Museum, open 362 days a year, has a gift shop filled with items depicting their logo—a potato wearing a crown.
Arco, Idaho, aka “Atomic City” proudly touts its claim to fame: it was the first city in the entire world to be lit by electricity generated solely by nuclear power—a feat which lasted for about an hour in the year 1955. Their high school is part of the 2A Nuclear Conference. I can’t make this stuff up.
Craters of the Moon is a landmass so foreboding, so inhospitable, I cannot even imagine how early pioneers crossed it. Not finding an easy way around it, I think I would have just turned around and crossed the prairies again, heading back home. Driving through it on a smooth paved road now, it is other-worldly, the kind of sight that makes the passengers of the family station wagon press their noses against the glass and stare in silence. It’s weird.
Idaho, for all its emphasis on potatoes, also has some amazing natural beauty. Its two most famous lakes, Lake Coeur d'Alene (pronounced Core-duh-LANE) and Lake Pend Oreille (pronounced Pahn-duh-RAY), sport some of the most epic scenery and pristine boating of the entire Pacific Northwest. We have spent time in and around both. The Route of the Hiawatha bike trail is fifteen miles of riding so scenic and wild, I have decided the sore bum was worth it three times already. But with all that beauty, the license plate brags about potatoes. Weird.
Idaho has some unfortunately weird history, too, particularly as it relates to racial issues. Some of the towns up in the panhandle—near beautiful Coeur d’Alene and Pend Oreille—used to draw a disproportional number of white supremists and made the national news more than a few times for it in the 1980s and 1990s. Fortunately, most of that activity was driven out of the state with raids and changes in local ordinances (though the panhandle is seeing a resurgence of some of that activity in the last several years, as reported here and here).
But the best kept secret in Idaho is one that we discovered just this last weekend when we drove through on our way back from visiting our kids. Do you like ice cream? Then you must go. Don’t give me your excuses about living a thousand miles away. Get in the car and drive to Reed’s Dairy in Idaho Falls. You could use a good road trip anyway. Seriously, the ice cream is so good. It is creamy to a level that makes a person stop and consider if they have ever truly eaten ice cream before. And I have eaten a lot of ice cream, friends. Trust me on this one.
The 24 flavors showed some real creativity, and the staff was friendly, but honestly, I would go even if the flavors were basic and the staff rude. Study up on ice cream. Who else can claim 16% butterfat? The smooth texture of that ice cream is other-worldly—the dairy antithesis of Craters of the Moon. I’m sorry I didn’t get a good photo of my ice cream. I was distracted.
The line was nearly out the door when we went on Saturday evening. They are open from 8 AM until 10 PM six nights a week. There are several locations throughout the state, but the original Idaho Falls location sports a petting zoo so kids can get up-close and personal with the farm animals that make it all happen. Oh, and it is a full-fledged dairy, so you can also get your milk and cream and cheese curds and the like.
If you can’t make the road trip anytime soon, you might consider the second-best option. According to their website, they will ship their products to you. Ice cream. You can get mail order ice cream. Did I mention the 16%? This is the best kind of Idaho weird.
Interesting how adopting a motto is more leading yourself into, rather than proof of attainment. You have certainly been through a great deal of uncomfortable in the last several years. Even more than you have mentioned. Love you guys so much. Standing with you (spiritually - as you are wandering around all the time!).
Also, haven't' been to the ice cream spot - but totally agree about Idaho. Weird and often strikingly beautiful.
I don't have a motto but a couple mantras - county my blessings and keep perspective. The whole world is uncomfortable right now so you gotta do whatever makes it bearable! And there's still plenty of comforting things to keep us distracted :)