Our Common Dharma: Why you should feel slightly in over your head

There’s a very important headspace where we stop feeling safe — but haven’t yet become afraid. FYI, you’ve probably already been there without realizing it.

It’s kind of like what you might feel when you first wade into a lake. At first, the water is shallow enough that every step feels certain. Your feet remain firmly planted on the bottom. If you stumble, it hardly matters.

Then comes one more step.

The lakebed is still there — you know it is — but you can no longer stand comfortably on it. You can brush the bottom with your toes if you stretch for it, but walking has become difficult. You’re not swimming in deep water, but you’re no longer simply standing either. You begin to just tread water.

This is exactly the place where you want to be. You’re not in danger. You know the bottom hasn’t disappeared. It’s simply become something you trust is there rather than something you rely upon. That narrow space between standing and swimming is one of the best metaphors for the optimal way that human beings grow toward flourishing.

For decades now, psychologists have recognized that our greatest learning almost never happens when we’re comfortable. But it also doesn’t happen when we’re overwhelmed, either. That sweet spot lies just in between wading and swimming.

A Russian psychologist named Lev Vygotsky called it the Zone of Proximal Development. It’s the place where a challenge sits just beyond what we can comfortably accomplish on our own. The task is difficult enough to stretch us but close enough that success remains possible. Close enough that we still believe we’re capable, even though we know we’re pushing ourselves a bit.

Current research on motivation and performance has repeatedly found the same pattern. When a task is too easy, we become bored. When it is too difficult, we become frustrated or discouraged. In that zone between boredom and anxiety is the narrow space where attention sharpens, learning accelerates, and our self-confidence expands.

Consider all the experiences that have changed you: The first time you drove a car. The first presentation you gave. The first tough conversation you chose not to avoid. The first day at a new job. The first time you fell in love.

None of those moments felt very comfortable. But also none of them required you to leap into the middle of the ocean. They simply asked you to take one step beyond where you could comfortably stand.

This is exactly why the sensations of excitement and fear are so often confused.

In your body, excitement and fear are almost the same. Your heart beats faster. Your breathing changes. Your attention narrows. Your body prepares for action. The difference is in the story your mind tells you about them. One story says, “Something terrible is about to happen.” The other says, “Something wonderful is about to happen.” Your body can’t tell the difference.

That’s why so many meaningful opportunities arrive with a bit of nervousness. Butterflies.

Another psychologist, a favorite of mine, in fact, Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi, whom I’ve written about before, spent his career studying what he called flow — those moments when we become so absorbed in an activity that we lose track of time. One of the consistent ingredients of flow is that the challenge slightly exceeds our current skill. Not by much. Just enough to require our full attention.

The shoreline does not produce a flow state. The open ocean can produce panic. But the water just beyond your feet invites presence. Growth. Discovery.

Now unfortunately, many of us organize our lives to avoid ever entering that space of water. We want certainty. Predictability. Familiar routines. We assume comfort is the highest good. It is not.

Comfort is a wonderful place to rest. But it’s a less than optimal place to live.

But then on the other hand, sometimes we romanticize taking enormous risks, as though growth requires reckless leaps into the unknown. That’s a nice thought. It usually doesn’t work out that way, though. Real courage is surprisingly modest. It looks a lot like taking just one more step. Just enough to stop standing. But not enough to drown.

When we look back, many of our best experiences began right there.

The trip we almost didn’t take. The opportunity we nearly declined. The friendship that started with an awkward hello. The career we almost convinced ourselves we weren’t quite qualified to pursue.

At the time, these things felt uncertain. Now they simply feel like our life.

So, the goal isn’t to become fearless. The goal is to become familiar with that exhilarating place where our feet no longer quite reach the bottom, but we know it’s still there if we need it.

That’s where confidence is actually built — not by standing securely, but by discovering that you can actually swim. Once you’ve learned that lesson, you’ll find yourself seeking that level of water again and again. Not because it’s comfortable. But because that’s where the most exciting things happen.

Wil Darcangelo, M.Div, is an ordained Unitarian Universalist Minister of the First Church in Lancaster at the Bulfinch Meetinghouse in Massachusetts, progressive theologian and essayist on optimistic spirituality in the Information Age. Follow him on Substack, Facebook, Instagram, TikTok, and YouTube.