Prompt 211. Daring Acts of Discomfort

& a prompt on the danger of familiarity by Paulina Pinsky

Hi friend,

Last week I said I’d write more about the premiere of Jon’s American Symphony at Carnegie Hall, so that’s where I’ll pick up. I went with my family and two of my beloveds—my two Lizzies. They came over early and we got dressed together; I wore a beautiful silk dress that my sweet friend Behida Dolić made me, as well as a turban she gave me for my birthday.

We were all excited about the occasion, and the giddy atmosphere was only heightened by everyone oohing and aahing over my weird little wolf pack, River and Maude. (Sidebar—thank you to everyone who helped spread the word about Maude and applied to adopt her. She’s found a wonderful home in Queens; she’s heading there tomorrow.) Before we left, we stopped to snap this photo on the stoop. Energetically we were going for “the family in Succession on the way to the board meeting.”

The symphony itself—it was an utter joy, start to finish. We were in a private balcony, I had my loved ones gathered around me, and as we waited for the show to start, I was so so happy. Then Jon came out in an electric blue velvet suit, and the crowd gave an immediate standing ovation. I clasped hands with Liz G, and we both started crying. Through the next two hours, as Jon bounced around the stage, quasi-conducting and dancing and dazzling on the piano, as the orchestra played a whirlwind of every strain of American music, from indigenous to classical to folk and jazz, I felt that same swell of joy and love and pride over and over again.

But as Liz G once told me, “Calling your life a roller coaster is an insult to roller coasters.” After the high of that evening came a low—a full week of being very sick with symptoms of GVHD, a complication of my bone marrow transplant. I was in my hometown of Saratoga for the first time in a year, and I fully reverted back to my coping mechanism from a decade ago: curling up on the living room couch with my dogs, numbing out on television, occasionally skulking out to the backyard and smoking a joint to ward off the nausea, despite my parents’ raised eyebrows.

I was watching The Handmaid’s Tale, tearing through five seasons in five days—though honestly I slept through most of it. Eventually I started feeling an overwhelming apathy, and at some point, I woke up and said to Jon, “I can’t keep doing this.” Because I know that there is a line—between enjoying a couple of days curled up under a comforter with my dogs, immersed in a show, having my sweet mom taking care of me, and falling into a rut that’s impossible to get out of.

So I’m reminding myself of my daily lesson this year: look for small joys, plan things to look forward to. This week, it was a day trip to Boston with my dear friends Cat and Jonny for yet another concert. It was a challenge for me to commit to it—because I’m more comfortable staying home, where I have the familiarity of my bed and everything I need if I get sick, or if I’m tired. But the reality is, I didn’t feel well enough for the show at Carnegie, and it ended up being such a life-giving experience. I want to challenge myself to commit to one daring act of discomfort each week, because I know there are nourishing gifts to be found on the other side of it.

This is something that today’s prompt contributor, the writer and teacher Paulina Pinsky, has thought a lot about in the last year, about how sticking with something just because it’s familiar can breed dangerous complacency. Inspired by that famous quote of Anaïs Nin’s—“And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom”—it’s called “The Risk of Blossoming,” and it’s gorgeous and powerful, friend, so read on.

Sending love,
Suleika

Some Items of Note—

• We’ve posted our notes from the last meeting of the Hatch, where Carmen and Holly talked about building creative community and shared a powerful passage from Annie Dillard’s Pilgrim at Tinker Creek and a prompt inspired by the photographer Sally Mann. You can get caught up here!

• On Threads, our new community space for the Isolation Journals, we’re continuing our weekly ritual: a collective gratitude list of small joys. Get the app to join this inspiring conversation!

Bradley Kerl, Ramsey Park (2012)

Prompt 211. The Risk of Blossoming by Paulina Pinsky

Just because it’s familiar doesn’t mean it’s good for you.

Last December, as I was driving from New York to New Orleans to spend Christmas with my fiancé’s family, the man I was supposed to marry began yelling at me about his anti-natalist beliefs—that having children was unethical. I clung onto the steering wheel, fighting back tears. 

I had heard his rant every single day of our seven-month engagement. It was familiar.

But for the first time in our two-and-half-year relationship, we were out of weed. I’d been a daily weed smoker for five years, and on day three without it, I was no longer comfortably numbed. And although his rant felt familiar, although I had told myself I was used to his rage, I could no longer convince myself that this was safe.

I was forced to see the truth: I had remained in an emotionally unsafe relationship because I had convinced myself that what was familiar was comfortable.

But I no longer felt safe.

Suddenly I realized: What is familiar is not always safe.

Today, I am over nine months sober. I’m no longer engaged and happily living at home in Pasadena, California. Allowing myself to feel the discomfort of the familiar led to enormous, life-altering, and life-preserving change. I’m thankful that I believed that I could try something new, that I deserved more—better. Even though I couldn’t see what was ahead, my life has grown beyond my wildest dreams because I chose myself, because I chose change.

Now, I am connected to my intuition and how to listen to it. I no longer numb out, blunt, or destroy my gut instinct. I feel daily comfort in my writing and in small nourishing acts like my skincare routine. I no longer allow familiarity to eclipse my judgment. I actively engage with what replenishes and revives me. I no longer stand for my own destruction. I am safe.

Familiarity is a form of comfort, but just because it’s familiar does not mean it’s not destructive.

Familiarity is comfort; but just because it’s comfortable doesn’t mean it’s not boiling you alive, slowly, like an unsuspecting frog.

I left because I was no longer afraid of discomfort. And I discovered that staying put was more uncomfortable than plunging into the unknown.

Your prompt for the week:

Ask yourself, What feels uncomfortable to admit? Is it a relationship gone toxic? A habit that's become unhealthy? An old story you're clinging to that's holding you back?

Then, without self-judgment, calling in compassion, go ahead and admit it.

Bonus prompt:

Create a list of small nourishing acts. Assign one for each day of the week.

If you’d like, you can post your response in the comments below, in our Facebook group, or on Instagram by tagging @theisolationjournals.

Today’s Contributor

Paulina Pinsky is a writer and educator based in Los Angeles. She received her MFA in Nonfiction Creative Writing from Columbia University, where she has been teaching Comedy Writing to high schoolers since 2017. She is also the co-author of the teen guide to consent, It Doesn’t Have to Be Awkward, and she writes the Substack newsletter newly sober.

For more paid subscriber benefits see—

• On Creative Community, our notes from the last meeting of the Hatch, where we talked about how to forge creative friendships

• The Spiritual Dividends of Pain, a video replay and notes from our Studio Visit with the writer, actor, and filmmaker Lena Dunham

• On Unsolicited Advice, an installment of Dear Susu where I answer a concerned dad’s question: “Should I have stayed silent?