Early September. Cross Country team practice. It was a speed day. We were doing mile repeats at a local park. The course was a large loop. After a warm up, we would do five or six. It must have been number 3. It may as well have been number 8. My legs felt like lead. I was at the back of the pack trailing the faster group that was ahead by several seconds.

“Trackman, get out of the comfort zone! You’ve got to get uncomfortable!” growled Coach Brown. Coach Brown stationed himself at the center of the loop trail we ran on, stop watch in one hand, the other cupped to his mouth to help his voice carry, although I’m not sure it was necessary. His gravelly baritone carried pretty well without much help.

The sport of high school cross country is straightforward: a group of runners race on a marked, unpaved trail over a distance of five kilometers. This was about the extent of my knowledge when I joined the Cross Country team as a high school junior.

Uninitiated as I was, I quickly came to believe that it was all about endurance, specifically how much pain I could endure, and that because my pain tolerance was low, my speed was capped.

But this way of thinking, I came to understand, was mistaken. As with other endurance sports, experienced cross country athletes distinguish between pain and discomfort. Pain is associated with injury. An injury causes pain, and trying to run through that only serves to make the injury worse. Discomfort on the other hand, is a feeling associated with profound exertion. Learning to run with and through discomfort enables an athlete to get stronger and improve their performance. Getting comfortable being uncomfortable is a key part of the sport.

This memory and core learning was top of mind in early 2025 when an unexpected decision presented: Should I accept the opportunity to retire early from my federal government career? While the circumstances giving rise to this question were overtly political, for me, the choice was principally a personal one: To continue on my present path or take a chance to discover a new course.

I had worked in a number of roles at financial regulatory agencies and had attained a position at the “top” of the career ladder. I was advising on significant operational and policy matters on AI and emerging technology, supporting an internal business team with technology contracts, and serving as the Division’s Deputy Data Officer. The work was interesting. It was also familiar. I had good working relationships with my colleagues and had earned the trust of senior staff.

Even so, at various points, I would sometimes muse about alternative career paths, the possibility of trying something else, what I might do if I could take a sabbatical. And from time to time, in moments of introspection, I asked myself the same question Coach Brown pressed me to consider all those years before: Was I continuing to progress, or had I become stuck in a professional comfort zone?

Now, suddenly, the chance to act on such musings was real. Should I take it?

My professional training as an attorney and work helping to oversee financial markets had trained me to be sensitive to risk. Minimizing risk was a vital part of my day-to-day work. Here, the risk was real. I did not have another job lined up or a ready plan for what my next role might be. I did not even have a LinkedIn account! Would I be jumping for the chance to explore new possibilities? Or was I walking the proverbial plank, abandoning a successful and meaningful career that I was proud of?

Even as I weighed these questions, I found that, in the moment, my decision was not hard. Whatever doubts I may have harbored were drowned out by a clarion call: to get out of my comfort zone – to be willing to grant myself the freedom to explore paths not yet taken.

That is what I did, but make no mistake. However straightforward my choice felt, being uncomfortable is not easy; it can be quite… uncomfortable. Over the course of the last year, I have had moments of doubt. I have run into some dead-ends. I have encountered challenge. But I have also made time for avocations, achieved personal goals, begun to explore several new areas of professional interest, reconnected with old friends, and made a number of new connections. A year on, I do not question the wisdom of my decision. For me it was the right one.

Coach Brown was right: Discomfort in running is fleeting. Within seconds of crossing the finish line, it disappears. So, too, in other spheres: Discomfort is transitory, but by challenging us to explore new paths, engage new opportunities, and succeed in new ways, its value is enduring.

July 2026