I’ve been thinking about comfort zones a bit lately. I started my career in magazine publishing, but was an English major in college. They don’t explain journalism ethics in Shakespeare. No one prepared me to proof a blueline in Milton. Eventually though, I figured out some things by the seat of my pants and became a decent copy editor. 

Soon after, I got promoted to production coordinator (it says “managing editor” on my resume, but that wasn’t totally apt). Though I’d managed to learn what a dangling participle was and how to fix it, I suddenly had to understand the difference between pre-press and printer, how to enter budget into a spreadsheet, and how to dummy a map, whatever that meant. 

After several years, I felt pretty comfortable in that role, but by then the money was evaporating. So I made a big scary leap into marketing. The money was good, but this world was much different. Writing soon became my primary function. Frankly, I spent a lot of time faking it while simultaneously reading David Ogilvy, Robert Bly, and any other copywriter I could tap. Your boy was drinking from the firehose for a good minute. 

Eventually, the game began to slow down, as they say in the NBA. No longer was I worried about how to write, but why. I started questioning if this was the best way to talk to a prospect. Wasn’t the sales pitch here a little too aggressive? Should we rethink this? I got more vocal in meetings, though I was still sparring with self-doubt. What do I, an English major who’s followed an uncommon path, really know? Maybe I should just shut up.

But if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s to trust my gut. I’ve continued to accept challenges that make me uncomfortable. My primary function at my last job was to write a bunch of social posts. Not my specialty. Fuck it, I tried.

Right now, I’m working on something that has me outside my comfort zone. I want these people to think I have all the answers. But I don’t. I’m just winging it, as usual. 

I also have a job interview coming up with an employer 400 miles away. This listing wasn’t for remote work, and I don’t intend on moving (unless I get a Godfather offer). I have this terrible feeling in the pit of my stomach that they will realize the great mistake they’ve made in talking to me and become angry I had the arrogance to waste their time. But you never know until you try, right?

The point is, you need to feel a little discomfort in order to grow. It’s corny and cliché, but it’s the truth. Wish me luck.

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