Six of us gathered around the multi-colored, clay-stained table on a snowy Wednesday evening. Minutes before, our instructor welcomed us into our first-ever pottery lesson, and within minutes she’d turned us loose on the wheel.

“No, this can’t be right, I’m not ready!”

I started to panic.

After all, I’d seen The Great Pottery Throwdown… I know what it takes to throw pottery on the wheel, and I definitely was not up to the challenge yet.

What happens if I mess up? What do I do if I get it wrong? How do I know if I’m doing it right? How do I make my mug look like that one over there? Should I have even signed up for these lessons? Do I even like making pottery?

These were just a few of the questions my brain glossed over in the Rolodex of potential hazards that comes with doing new things, like attempting to make pottery at age 30 after approximately zero years handling crafts of any kind.

Stepping out of my comfort zone

I know that here at aSweatLife, we’re no strangers to trying new things because we know what we have to gain from stepping beyond our comfort zones. And I really wish I could tell you, readers of aSweatLife, that I tried this new thing and surprised myself with how much fun it was. That I caught the first glimpse of my inner artist, and now she’s ready to share her potting gifts with the world.

But even for the purposes of a well-rounded story, I won’t lie. Throwing on the wheel was downright frustrating. I broke a sweat many times, and at one point my hands bled. I didn’t uncover a natural knack for molding clay. Each day felt like the first day. Like I was starting back at square one, minute after minute, for three impossibly long hours every Wednesday. I even held out hope to see the finished product after the final firing, to see how the glazes might have transformed my pieces. But you can guess where this story is going.

I made five pieces, none of which I’ll be gifting to friends or family.

At no point in my endeavor to try a new thing completely unrelated to fitness could I say I was truly relaxed.

Perhaps you’ve tried a new thing you wanted to love but were instead met with bump after bump in the road, too.

Here’s the thing, readers. This was the first time I recognized the bumps were the journey I was meant to have.

I was out of my comfort zone from the second I walked through the doors of the pottery studio and questioned if I was ready to be on the wheel yet. Out of my element every second of each week, as my fellow class participants eventually found their groove and I was still figuring out how the heck to center my glob of red, gritty, blister-causing clay week after week.

And I was exactly where I was supposed to be.

Learning to be with discomfort

The lesson from this trial-and-(major) error story isn’t about success or failure or even learning to enjoy the journey.

This was a lesson in learning to be with discomfort. To appreciate the moment for what it had to teach me, even when I didn’t like it.

Especially when I didn’t like it.

This was a lesson in seeing the difference between attempting to enjoy a moment versus simply appreciating what there was to learn from it. It’s the side of mindfulness that strikes me as less “popular” but much more real. This is the side I want to dig into more.

Because it’s a little easier to be mindful when watching a beautiful sunset while on vacation. And somehow, remaining mindful when, for example, your flight gets canceled and you’re stuck in an airport overnight, feels a little less out of reach. Can you relate?

But if I take the approach to practicing mindfulness as I do to training in the gym, then I better practice the things I’m not good at if I ever want to get better, right?

A new approach to mindfulness

The execution of choosing to be with a moment, to hold space for discomfort and uneasiness, with just as much compassion as the moments we want to soak in, may not be easy. But the good news is, the process is the same, no matter what kind of moment we’re holding space for.

One of my meditation teachers, Rolf Gates, explains the mind state of a wandering mind as one that’s experiencing suffering (i.e., the wandering mind is the mind that’s in a place of rumination or worry), but we have a choice — in each moment — to be in a mind state of suffering or one of acceptance.

And choosing acceptance isn’t complacency. Choosing acceptance means choosing to welcome the moment, to allow it to meet you, with compassion and with an open heart. With loving kindness. We effectively stop trying to control the flow, and we start to trust it.

And this process — of connecting to the moment, of truly experiencing being with an open heart — is the process to also liberate ourselves from the wanderings of the mind.  

Gates also reminds us that the choice to practice mindfulness is just that — a choice. Every day, every minute, every second, we choose it. And we can begin anytime. We can begin right now. And right now. And even right now. And if we lose track of it, we can choose to come back. All that matters is that we do.

Choosing to hold space for this moment

So, each week, I went back to the pottery wheel. I wedged the clay as best I could and attempted to center it on the wheel. My hands bled and bled. Week after week. I didn’t get the hang of it. But I’m proud of the pottery I didn’t make in the end. And I stand by my too-small-to-drink-anything-out-of mug with rough edges that will probably cut your lip if you try to use it.

I’m choosing to hold space for this moment. To appreciate it for what it has to show me, even when I don’t love it. And I know that choice isn’t a one-and-done. It’ll be a choice each day, each moment, even.

And I welcome that with an open heart.