Cultivating Butterflies: How to get outside your comfort zone.

We all know that feeling of having butterflies. Maybe we're about to tell our partner we love them for the first time, we're walking into our first day of a new job, or stepping up to a podium to give a public speech. It's easy to wish that feeling would pass. Sometimes I find myself chastising myself for it: why can't I just be confident?

But butterflies are a gift — and a complicated one. Feeling nervous in situations like this is one of the most beautiful parts about being alive. It means we are living, growing, doing something that matters to us. But it can also be genuinely hard. When we are always in our comfort zone and never pushing ourselves outside of it, we don't experience the butterflies — but when life forces us outside it, that discomfort doesn't always feel beautiful. Sometimes it just feels like anxiety.

For a lot of us, we are in some pretty set routines. Sometimes the thought of disrupting those routines is really unsettling. Sometimes I get anxious when plans change or when my expectations are thrown out the window — when I don't have control of a situation.

But thinking I can have control over situations, or that my expectations will always be met, is a farce. Life throws curveballs at us all the time. Sometimes great things come out of nowhere, and sometimes terrible things do. We cannot choose our circumstances a lot of the time — we can only choose how we respond to them.

So what does it look like to actually build that skill? Responding to situations that make us nervous or anxious is something we can practice. We don't have to wait unsuspectingly until life throws us a curveball. We can seek out experiences that give us an opportunity to be uncomfortable, and in doing so, we can learn a lot about ourselves.

This is a practice I like to call Cultivating Butterflies.

Here's how you can do it:

First, take stock of your comfort zone. What things do you do on autopilot? What areas of your life do you feel incredibly comfortable? For me, this includes walking my dogs on the same five trails we always go on. Relaxing on my couch. Eating my favorite meal. Talking to my family.

Next, take stock of the area just outside of your comfort zone. What's something you wanted to do recently but didn't, because it would be uncomfortable? Maybe it's going to a movie alone, asking for a raise, or calling that friend you haven't talked to in a long time and aren't sure what to say. Write these down. Some of these have higher stakes — like asking for a raise. You don't have to start there. Start small. Like anything, it gets easier with practice.

Here's an example from my life:

When I was 15, I had ankle surgery as a result of an injury I got in gymnastics. It was the first time I had an IV. They put the needle in my arm and I wanted to vomit. I had to close my eyes and put my iPod in on loud. And I had to sit in a hospital bed for what felt like a week — in reality probably an hour — with that needle in my arm. I made sure to keep that arm incredibly still because I actually thought that if I moved it too much, the needle would puncture through my arm. I was 15, okay! After that, I was really afraid of IVs.

Then a few years ago I decided I wanted to start a practice of purposefully stepping outside of my comfort zone. Inside my comfort zone: no IVs, no needles. Outside it: a medical professional sticking a needle in my arm. So I signed up to donate platelets at my local Red Cross. I showed up and the kind woman in charge asked me, "have you ever donated before?" I said no. She said, "how about you start with donating blood? Platelets are two needles and sitting still for multiple hours." I gratefully told her that sounded like a wonderful idea.

They started taking my vitals in preparation for the donation, and my heart rate went up. I finally sat in the chair, and the phlebotomist cheerfully chatted away while preparing my arm for the stabbing. I stumbled through nervous small talk and told her to let me know when it was needle time so I could look away.

A stinging pain, a dark red tube running down my arm. I did it! And thankfully, it was over in 20 minutes. Since then I've donated over two gallons of blood. For the first half of those, I had to have my arm covered with a sheet because the sight of the blood leaving my arm made me want to scream. Something about watching my perfectly good blood leave my body didn't sit right with my amygdala. Now, I don't even need a sheet. Please, please, hold the applause.

Don't get me wrong — I still stare at the same poster on the opposite wall every time the needle goes in. And I still get nervous. But nervous and afraid are not the same thing. Afraid means the discomfort is in charge. Nervous means I'm in charge, and I'm doing it anyway. I can cheerfully chat with the phlebotomist now, and I have a great wardrobe of Red Cross t-shirts. So I really came out on top here.

How do you plan to cultivate more butterflies?

So you've picked one thing you want to do that feels uncomfortable. Make a plan. Set a day and time. Tell someone what you are doing to help hold yourself accountable.

When the discomfort inevitably arises, don't ignore it. Say hello, discomfort. Welcome. I can co-exist with you and be okay. Our brains simply don't like when we are uncomfortable — that's it. Pay attention to what's going on in your body and your mind. Where do the butterflies show up? For me, it's my sternum and sometimes my throat. Pay attention to the narratives that start running in your head, the limiting self-talk: I can't do this. I don't need to do this. That blog was so silly — why am I letting some woman on the internet tell me what to do? I can go home and watch my favorite show and I will be just as happy.

Then do the thing.

Afterwards, reflect on it. Did you survive? Did you find any joy, or perhaps some more self-confidence? Did you feel empowered? Even if it turns out you hated the movie or your date sucked, that wasn't the point. The point was that you empowered yourself to grow and live a bigger life. You expanded your comfort zone. And every time we do this — no matter how small — the impact compounds over time. It is a consistent practice, not a one-and-done.

Since I overcame my fear of needles, I have done so many things outside of my comfort zone. I jumped off the Strat in Las Vegas, went on a 10-day solo trip to Belize, went skydiving, gave speeches, and started my own business. I ran a marathon — which, let me tell you, absolutely shredded my comfort zone and comfort altogether. Each time, I welcomed my butterflies and thanked them for reminding me that I am not only alive, but that I am really living. Each time, I have a new found empowerment and confidence: I can do hard things. I can do scary things. I can face my fears and be okay, or maybe even have fun doing it. Then, when life does throw curve balls at me, I have a solid foundation of resilience and strength to fall back on, because I know that I can do hard and scary things, and that I can be okay.

You don't have to do this by yourself. That's what I'm here for.