The Crazy Wisdom Community Journal asked a number of leaders in southeastern Michigan’s conscious living community to reflect upon times in their lives that they’ve left their comfot zones to venture out in new ways. In the distant past or much more recently, we asked, what did you do, what inspired you, did it change you, inside or outside, big or little? Did you attend a new class, take an adventurous trip, go skydiving, stretch beyond a long entrenched boundary, start a new relationsip or end an old one, take a leap, retire, join the Peace Corps, go on a night trek in the wilderness, or just do something way out of the ordinary?
By Lauren Crane
I look at a comfort zone like a backyard garden. Plant seeds—let’s say tomato—in rich soil and they’ll grow in fat and juicy abundance. Really cool, you say, this will be my tomato patch forevermore. Not so fast. If you keep planting the same crop in the same plot season after season, you’ll deplete the soil and, sadly, your bushel basket will be bare. But throw in parsnips the next year, plug in peas the year after that, and you’ll keep the soil balanced and fertile, ready for the next good thing. I’ll stop pretending that I have a green thumb and get to the point of this metaphor.
We all have seeds inside of us that want to grow—it’s part of being human—and if we expect to grow, we’ve got to keep changing things up. Trying new things. Taking chances.
That’s where my motto, Dare to be Stupid! comes in.
When I say, I dare to be stupid, I am not talking about walking around with a death wish, which for me, would be something like running with the bulls, volcano boarding, or wearing spike heels. Those things would not only be ridiculous for me, but also, I’d likely break my neck.
No, I created that motto long ago to allay one of my childhood fears: being made fun of (I’m embarrassed to even admit that). I’m betting I’m not alone in carrying that angst though—it tends to sit in the back of many a psychic fridge long past its proper expiration date. I still catch a good whiff of it more often than I’d like, but still, I charge blindly into the abyss, daring to be stupid. On purpose. By which I mean, I am willing to look like a fool or an amateur. To wear a post-it note on my forehead that reads, I have no idea what I’m doing. Make mistakes in public. Or worse, be LOUD!
I took one of my biggest forays into the spotlight, literally, some time in my mid-fifties. I decided to pick up an instrument, write and sing my own songs, join a songwriter’s group, and perform in front of people. My fingers bumbled against strings, I shook, I had no idea if I could carry a tune. Surrounded by creative, experienced, astoundingly gifted guitar-playing singer-songwriters, I felt like a loser. I used to leave the stage and find a place to cry. Yet, I persisted.
In great part because those very people acted the opposite of what I feared—they encouraged me. When I took my music out into the world, some people may have been rolling their eyes—actually, a couple made it clear that I had no business doing this at all. Oh, look, my greatest fear has been realized and here I am, still standing in front of a mic, mouth open, instrument in hand.
Truthfully, the singer/songwriter thing was something I had to do. It wasn’t a lifelong dream or anything, but rather intel I stumbled upon inside myself. I had a head full of lyrics that wouldn’t sit still. They kept acting up until I said, okay, okay, enough already. Now, a decade later, I have no trouble picking up my ukulele and playing for people anywhere. I put out a cd of my music in 2020. I’m no musical genius, but I bring all I’ve got, and I have something in my life that I love to do.
There’s nothing worse for a comfort zone than those pesky ideas that we all have. Dang it! Leave me alone, you unfulfilled desires! Can’t you see I’m fine here with my blankie and binky?
I had this book I wanted to write. I spent 20 years writing, rewriting, shoving it into a drawer for years at a time, rediscovering it, laughing because I did not remember what I wrote the previous time, rewriting it again, putting it aside again, picking it up again, doubting it and stalling. Like those lyrics though, it would not let me leave it alone. So, in 2017 I finally pushed forward and self-published The Square Donut.
Self-published? Won’t people assume that it’s no good if it’s self-published? Hello fear. I had to remain steady and confident. It was the route I wanted to go. I had a friend design the cover, and another create a little donut graphics. It had the right look and feel. I published the book that I wanted to publish. There’s no…and then it spent 24 weeks on the New York Times best-selling list story that follows. Simply a, I made that thing I had in my head real, did the work I wanted to do, the way I wanted it done, and I’m proud of it, story. A I conquered fear of judgement and unleashed my art into the world story—a step out of my comfort zone and into joy, story. I am happy with my book—and readers tell me that they are, too.
Becoming a singer/songwriter and an author are stories about tossing a monkey wrench into the Why Do Anything When I Can Just Sit Here machine. Quitting the crappy, low paying job I had in my early twenties, selling my rusty Ford Pinto, taking my side-job earnings as a Tupperware lady, and showing up at Michigan State with just enough money to get me through one semester, was sliding my last nickel into the slot marked Take a Chance for a Better Life. A recent decision that has me treading water in a deep lake of discomfort as I figure out which direction to swim has become a saga entitled, “Okay, Now What?”
It’s been a persistent battle—this stepping out of the comfort zone thing. This rotating the crops to realize abundance thing. This growing thing. I’ve edited my motto from Dare to be Stupid to the kinder, more accurate, more likable to me, Dare to Be.
Isn’t that what it’s all about? For you, for me, for everyone who wants the richest, fullest life that we are capable of living? Making hard choices. Embracing the struggle. Stretching our awesome suit. Not hiding or ignoring our gifts, but fiercely fighting to find them, make them real, and share those gifts with each other. There’s a prereq for that: it requires leaving comfort zones in the dust while making a beeline for grow zones, daring ourselves to be, to bud, to sprout, to burst forth, so that we may enjoy the full harvest of our tomato, parsnip, and pea selves.
Until it’s time to plow and plant again.
