When Motivation Isn’t There

“You have to be your best self, when you’re your least motivated.” - David Goggins

I recently finished reading The Comfort Crisis by Michael Easter.

But let me tell you why.

I’ve been thinking a lot about discomfort and namely the areas of my life where I feel I have a low tolerance for discomfort. It might have to do with a physical issue. It might have to do with a house chore I have been putting off for eons. It might have to do with running and training. It might have to do with something as simple as pulling up Postmates vs. spending the same 30 minutes to cook for myself.

We live in an increasingly comfortable world. Yet I’m sure you would say that the times you grew the most were not when you were the most comfortable, right? I’m not saying we should be masochists. I have had jobs in my career where I probably stayed a beat too long assuming the pain would pay off - and it never did. However, there were other times, when I allowed petty grievances to take up too much rent in my head.

We live in a microwave world where nearly anything you want can be yours - fast. We run around like little gods thinking we can solve our problems with our quick brains. My illness showed me that that is not always the case. Despite having money and smarts, I spent months chasing a diagnosis I couldn’t find. I sat with discomfort beyond any I had ever imagined possible. The most painful part of that discomfort was not the pain itself - but the thought, “this might last forever.” My thoughts were more painful than the thing itself.

A few weeks ago, we lost our dog, Iggy. Iggy was the love of my life. We had him nearly eleven years. He had been with me through so much. We had lost his brother Eno, a year earlier at only eight. When Iggy was diagnosed with cancer in April, I upped my meditation practice. I wanted to stay out of my thoughts and focus on being as present as I could for every moment with him - no matter how much discomfort it entailed. It was hard. His cancer involved tumors all over his body that I would have to dress. I was making all his food by hand and giving him his supplements and medication multiple times a day. He was happy, but it was exhausting. It reminded me of my late mother’s cancer journey.

When he took a turn for the worse, we knew it was time. We opted for at-home euthanasia for him. When the vet gave him his first shot - a sedative - I held his paw and began to tell him, thank you. I thanked him for all he did for me and for us. I told him I hoped we had done enough for him and that he would see his brother soon. I felt a pain so big I thought I might have a panic attack or my heart might explode. I looked outside at the brilliant orange nasturtium vine spiraling down our back fence as his diaphragm began to expand and this thought came to me,

“This is the price of admission.”

This pain. This massive discomfort. This earth-shattering loss. Being present with these moments is how we say, “Thank you” for those who gave so much to us. I sat and allowed that deafening discomfort to swallow me whole. I did not run from it or Iggy. I would be here until the end.

Later, my husband said to me, “I wish my brain worked like yours. How did you come up with that? Cognitively? To say those beautiful things to him while he was taking his last breaths. I only said what I said after you because you had done it first. I would have never thought of that on my own.”

I replied, “Honestly, it’s not me being smart or having a great brain, it was my meditation practice. I knew it was going to be hard. I wanted to extract as much love as I could from him and I didn’t want to miss one moment of being present for him. I wanted him to feel fully taken care of, loved and to have no fear.”

If you are avoiding discomfort, maybe tease the edges of it to see if you are avoiding your own growth and healing. Is there an addiction or habit you need to break? Is there a call you’re delaying? Is there a negative thought loop that doesn’t serve you but you keep rehearsing it? Could you up your fitness or quit sugar or put your phone down?

Only you know…

T

“And the time came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.” - Anaïs Nin

the Divine Life Hack

Two years ago around this time, I was supposed to be in Lake Como, Italy for a glamorous vacation. It was a bucket list trip and I had pulled out all the stops. Except it didn’t happen… because I got sick.

I didn’t just get a little sick, I got a lotta sick. I got so sick no doctor could figure out what was wrong with me for months. I was told I had a combination of gut issues and “stress.” I’m sorry, but if I’m stressed, then going to Lake Como, Italy is definitely the cure. However, I knew inside that something was very wrong and I was terrified.

At the time I got sick, I was obsessed with getting better fast. My whole life revolved around fast. I was a long-time tech and entertainment executive and always on the move. Anything could be solved by finding the right answers…. all by myself… and going fast. Right?

As I watched month after month tick by with no answers, my depression increased. I was not getting better fast, I was not getting better at all. Short on solutions, I followed a friend’s suggestion to go to an intensive outpatient therapy center for anxiety. Internally, this seemed like a huge failure. But the only diagnosis I had was anxiety… so, why not?

And with that… my world stopped. I went on disability and began three hours of daily group and individual therapy for thirty days. I felt so nervous walking in and then… my shoulders dropped. I felt the sense that I could finally breathe. (It didn’t hurt that the place was in Newport Beach, over the water and next to a European bakery either.)

If you know my story, you know that I found out months later that I was actually dealing with toxic mold illness (or CIRS). And you also know how it changed my life, my finances and career. If you didn’t, well now you do.

But one of the biggest lessons I learned before I was even diagnosed was that rest is essential.

In many major religions, you will read the concept of God resting on the seventh day.

And yet, we don’t view rest as divine. We view it as laziness. We view it as a “nice to have,” not a “need to have.”

While in outpatient therapy, 80% of my symptoms went away. I later learned (in the work of famed “mystery illness” physician Dr. Neil Nathan) that mold illness severely impacts the limbic system and the vagal nerve which regulates the parasympathetic nervous system. So, slowing down and resting literally helps you heal.

I look back on my life now and I think about the time I tried to do a 7 week workbook for finding love… in 3 weeks. (It didn’t work.)

The time I tried to lose 5 pounds in 2 weeks. (It didn’t work.)

The time (or many times) I tried to solve significant work and life stress with “a weekend away.” (It didn’t work.)

On the flip side, nearly everything worth value in my life, took time and rest. My career. My musicianship. My coaching skills. My sobriety (almost 16 years in). My marriage. And yet time, is something I always felt short on and rest always felt superfluous. And that was on me.

I now read and finish books because I make time to rest. I meditate daily and with my coaching clients. I recently told my functional medicine doctor that I’m fine with taking my mold detox slowly, even if it takes a year. Because I have time. I always had time. I just didn’t know it.

This weekend… try to find time for your own personal sabbath… and as you enjoy it, consider that you’re not being lazy… you’re being divine.