Embracing the Paradox of Effort and Rest

January 13, 2025

Embracing the Paradox of Effort and Rest

Why Do I Do What I Don’t Want to Do, and Not Do What I Want?
This question resonates deeply. It’s an age-old struggle, even immortalized in scripture. Romans 7:15 puts it simply: “For I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate.” This tension between desire and action is something we all face, and today I want to explore two intertwined truths that have emerged in my life during a season of profound discomfort and learning.

1. There Is a Season for Everything
Ecclesiastes reminds us that life unfolds in seasons: “To everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven.” For the last two years, I have been in a wintering season—a time of rest, hibernation, and going within.

And let me tell you, not efforting has been infinitely harder than efforting. I’ve been told by coaches, psychics, shamans, physicians, and my own internal knowing that this period was necessary. A time to rest, eat, reflect, and simply be. Yet this was the last thing I wanted to hear. I thrive on pushing forward, creating, and the satisfaction of checking things off a to-do list.

This wintering season has been uncomfortable—the most challenging period of my life. But it has also been the most transformative. It taught me something profound: you cannot skip the season of rest. If you try, it will find you anyway, often in ways that are harder and more disruptive. Rest is not a luxury; it is a necessity.

What would I tell my younger self? Embrace this time. Don’t judge it so harshly. You will come out of it. You will work again, create again, and thrive in the world. But this moment is for introspection and rest. Surrender to it, because it’s an essential part of the journey.

2. The Hardest Step Is the First Step
When the season shifts and it’s time to move again, it can feel almost impossible to get started. Breaking through the inertia of rest is a struggle. Whether it’s getting out of bed, lacing up your shoes for a run, making that first call, or drafting that initial email—the beginning feels like moving through quicksand.

This resistance is natural. Like a space shuttle breaking through Earth’s atmosphere, the hardest part is overcoming the gravitational pull of your comfort zone. Yet, once you push through, the reward is undeniable. Think about it:

The exhilaration after a great workout.
The satisfaction of completing a tough project.
The rush of stepping out of a cold plunge.

These moments remind us why the effort is worth it. As Abby Wambach said, “If it was easy, everyone would do it.” But here’s the good news: the more we practice stepping into discomfort, the easier it becomes.

Practicing Discomfort
Growth happens outside the comfort zone. And the more we practice pushing through that initial resistance, the bigger our comfort zone becomes. Here are some small, tangible ways to start:

Cold Showers: Even just 10 seconds of cold water can teach your mind to handle discomfort.
Micro-Steps: Make one call, send one email, or take one small action each day toward a bigger goal.
Physical Movement: A walk around the block or a short run can shake up stagnant energy.

These small practices build resilience. They teach us to embrace the awkwardness and discomfort of starting something new. Over time, what once felt impossible becomes second nature.

Final Thoughts
Magic doesn’t happen in the comfort zone. It happens when we lean into the awkward, the difficult, and the uncomfortable—and do it anyway. Whether it’s resting during a wintering season or taking that first hard step into action, both are necessary parts of the journey.

So today, let’s honor where we are. If you’re in a season of rest, embrace it without judgment. If you’re in a season of action, take that first step. Feel the discomfort and move through it, knowing that every small effort is part of a greater transformation. The first step is always the hardest, but I promise you—it’s worth it.

Recommended Reading