I recently went to a moms’ event at my son’s school where we learned line dancing.
And before I say anything else, I need to acknowledge something important:
I finally wore the cowboy boots.
The same boots I bought two years ago, convinced I was going to become someone who casually wore cowboy boots, only to let them sit untouched in my closet ever since.
Apparently, all it took was a PTA event and a dance floor to make it happen.
What surprised me most about the night wasn’t the boots, though.
It was how quickly I noticed myself slipping into something I see adults do all the time in unfamiliar situations: self-monitoring.
Am I doing this right?
Do I look awkward?
Is everyone else getting this faster than me?
It’s such an automatic response that most of us barely notice we’re doing it.
Children don’t approach new experiences this way. They try things, get things wrong, laugh, adjust, and keep moving.
Adults, on the other hand, often become deeply uncomfortable with not immediately knowing what we’re doing.
We avoid being beginners.
And because of that, we avoid a surprising amount of life.
At first, I was definitely paying more attention to everyone else than to the actual dancing. Trying to keep up. Trying not to miss a step. Trying to look like I knew what I was doing.
But somewhere in the middle of it, my son grabbed my hand to dance with me, and something shifted.
All the self-consciousness disappeared.
I stopped worrying about whether I looked silly. Stopped thinking about whether I was getting every move right. Stopped trying to manage how I appeared.
And I just had fun.
Real, uncomplicated fun.
It made me realize how much energy adults spend trying to avoid discomfort—not just socially, but emotionally too.
We want connection, but we don’t want vulnerability.
We want closeness, but we still want control.
We want growth, but we want to skip the awkwardness that comes with it.
But that’s not how meaningful experiences work.
Most things worth experiencing begin with some level of uncertainty. A first attempt. A learning curve. A moment where you feel slightly out of place before you settle into something new.
Relationships are no different.
People often assume discomfort is a sign that something is wrong. That if a conversation feels vulnerable, or if trying something new together feels awkward, they should retreat back into what’s familiar.
But discomfort isn’t always danger.
Sometimes it’s simply evidence that you’re expanding beyond your usual patterns.
Sometimes it’s a sign that you’re participating instead of protecting yourself from the possibility of looking foolish, failing, or feeling exposed.
And honestly, I think adulthood gets lighter when we stop requiring ourselves to already be good at everything before we allow ourselves to enjoy it.
That night reminded me that confidence often comes after participation, not before it.
You don’t wait until you feel completely comfortable to join in.
You join in first.
Then, somewhere along the way, comfort catches up.
So wear the boots.
Try the class.
Go to the event.
Dance badly until you dance better.
Because a lot of joy lives just beyond the moment we stop worrying so much about how we look while experiencing it.
To Your Thriving Relationship,
