What I Learned From Opening My Fridge Too Many Times

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It’s past one in the morning on a Saturday, and I’m sitting here feeling proud of myself.

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The day didn’t necessarily start that way. My mind was busy, I wasn’t feeling particularly optimistic, and at some point I decided to go to the beach for thirty minutes just to clear my head.

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I think that helped more than I realized.

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I came home, organized my house, practiced in front of the mirror the message I want to record for the parents in my classroom before orientation, and worked on something I’ve been wanting to create for a while: this blog.

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I even bought the domain today.

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None of these things are enormous accomplishments on their own. I still haven’t actually recorded the parent video. This website is nowhere near finished. But tonight they feel important because of how many times I tried to escape doing them.

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I checked my phone constantly.

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I opened the refrigerator multiple times, even though I wasn’t really hungry.

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I found random little things around the house to tinker with.

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At one point, I even considered texting my ex-boyfriend.

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And that one made me laugh a little when I realized what I was doing.

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It wasn’t necessarily that I suddenly wanted to talk to him. My mind was looking for somewhere familiar to go.

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Anything other than sitting here doing something new that I don’t quite know how to do yet.

I could have called a friend. I could have gone out for a drink. It’s Saturday night. I’m still on vacation from work. I had plenty of perfectly reasonable excuses available to me.

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But I stayed home.

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And I stayed with the discomfort.

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I’ve started to realize that maybe this is one of the hardest parts of creating something new.

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When we already know how to do something, there’s a certain flow to it. We know the next step. We know what it’s supposed to feel like.

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But when we’re creating something unfamiliar, there’s no groove yet.

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And maybe the mind goes searching for one.

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The phone is familiar.

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The refrigerator is familiar.

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Going out is familiar.

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Even reaching for an old relationship can be familiar.

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Sitting in front of something we don’t know how to build yet isn’t.

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I used to think discipline was mostly about making yourself do something.

Tonight it felt slightly different.

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It was noticing all the little invitations to leave what I was doing and choosing not to take them.

Not once, either.

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Over and over again.

And eventually, something shifted.

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The thing I had been avoiding started becoming exciting.

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I began seeing the blog take shape. I purchased the domain. I started imagining my journal entries finally having one home instead of living everywhere in notebooks, notes on my phone, unfinished documents, and random places I eventually forget about.

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Suddenly I wanted to keep going.

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That part interests me.

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How many times do we stop during that uncomfortable beginning and assume the discomfort means we don’t want something?

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What if sometimes it simply means we haven’t developed a rhythm with it yet?

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I know there are things I want to create in my life that will require focus, work, and consistency. I also know I’m capable of being the person who gets in my own way.

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But tonight gave me a different way of looking at that.

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Maybe I don’t need to suddenly become a perfectly disciplined person.

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Maybe I just need to become better at recognizing the little doors I use to escape discomfort.

And every once in a while, choose to stay in the room.