Most things are uncomfortable, until they aren’t.

My wife makes shakshuka - a delicious combination of onions, peppers, tomatoes and eggs that somehow doesn’t taste at all like a vegetable dish. I love it. It’s what I’d want served for my last supper. She’s been making it for years, and for years, I’ve never once attempted it.

Not because it’s complicated, or because I don’t like to cook, but because I had never done it before.

In my head, it felt like something she knew how to do and I didn’t. And as long as that story stayed intact, I never had to test it. Then recently she left town for work, and I decided it was time to roll up my sleeves and give it a go. 

Standing in the kitchen, staring at the ingredients sizzling in the pan and obsessively checking the recipe to make sure I was doing it right, I realized something mildly embarrassing: the only thing separating me from this dish was unfamiliarity.

It took me longer than it takes her. I second-guessed the spice portions (I can never remember which is a tablespoon and which is a teaspoon), I worried about overcooking the eggs,  and then…it was finished. I had made shakshuka!

Not perfectly, mind you, but well enough. And more importantly, the next time I make it, I won’t be starting from zero. In fact when I finish this post I’m prepping to try it again.

That’s how most discomfort works.

I often hear newer travelers describe their “horror stories” - missed connections, lost luggage, the wrong train, the bus that never came. They’re rattled. Shaken. Convinced something has gone terribly wrong.

When I hear those stories, I barely flinch. Not because I’m braver, but because I’ve been there before.

I’ve slept in airports. I’ve shown up in cities with no plan. I’ve navigated bureaucracy in a language I barely understand. With enough reps, those situations stop feeling like emergencies. If anything they feel like the beginnings of great stories.

Becoming an expat is all about venturing into the uncomfortable. Everything is unfamiliar. Groceries. Schools. Bank accounts. Healthcare. Social norms. You are constantly operating without muscle memory, in uncharted territory.

But dig this - discomfort has a short shelf life.

The first time you register at city hall, your heart pounds. The third time, you bring the right documents. Soon enough, you’re pitching in with your expertise in the area to help others who are going through it for the first time.

Resilience isn’t a personality trait. It’s exposure. Most things are uncomfortable - until they aren’t.

And on the other side of that discomfort isn’t just competence, it’s confidence. And that’s when you really start to feel good.