Practice Discomfort. You’re Going to Need It.

I started by putting my phone away when in elevators

Photo by Bruno Kelzer on Unsplash

Want to become a better ally? Start by not looking at your phone in the elevator.

I know. It sounds ridiculous.

But my seriousness is proportional to how unserious it sounds.

The next time you step inside an elevator and feel the reflex to reach for your phone, or the itch to scroll, or the need to desperately avoid eye contact because of the sheer panic of just standing there—resist.

I want you to…just stand there.

If you’re like me, it will feel uncomfortable at first.

That’s the point.

We have become deeply familiar with avoiding discomfort. Especially the small, social kind of discomfort. The feelings we get in those little moments of waiting, eye contact, or silence are why we scroll. Just the anticipation of those feelings make us reach for our phones. We believe our phones are saving us from the big and scary monster: small talk.

When human beings didn’t have phones we simply had to deal with those situations. Because “just dealing with it” was the norm, we never thought about what we were gaining from those little time-pockets of awkwardness, and what we were gaining was resilience. We were building the skills to adjust and navigate different surroundings, situations, and people.

By putting down your phone in the elevator, you’re choosing to build resilience, which is an important skill in allyship. Because being an ally and unlearning patriarchy will involve men feeling uncomfortable.

We’re signing up for moments where someone tells you you’re wrong. Or noticing something in yourself you don’t like. Or for feeling defensive and choosing not to lash out.

Those situations do not evoke elevator-levels of discomfort. They’re considerably larger than that.

And most of us haven’t trained for that.

First, start by noticing where the reflex to reach for your phone comes up. For me it was almost everywhere (elevators, grocery store lines, waiting rooms, red lights 😳…I could go on). I ended up focusing on the elevator because even if I wasn’t using my phone it’s customary to stare forward, so I could accomplish my goal and not look at anyone. (Yes, I thought about it that much.)

This was important because I wasn’t practicing not using my phone. I was practicing fighting the urge to give in to the tiniest amount of discomfort. I was trying to stay present and clock when my body started moving into habit-mode and started to reach for my phone.

When I started to fight that habit, I noticed something: almost everyone is on autopilot. I can’t tell you how many elevator rides I’ve now been on where I am the only not on their phone. I’m the only one taking in the surroundings.

Last week I received a comment that asked the question “Who do our actions serve?” And seeing so many heads down—especially in the tiny fractions of time we have between tasks—I have started to ask, “Who is this action serving?”

Whoever it is, it ain’t us. That’s for certain.

To me, patriarchy works the same way. It runs on reflex, habit, and automatic reactions. It’s built on everyday moments so subtle they are easy to dismiss, but when looked at in totality, having compounded on each other over years, become a seemingly natural way of life.

I’m a huge proponent of starting a personal change through quiet, small action, which is why not reaching for one’s phone is a good first step. It’s a quiet but meaningful change.

Small change is how you build this muscle.

And trust me, you’re going to need it.

You got this 🤜🤛

Take care,
Mike

Further Reading

If you’re curious about this idea taken in a much more physically demanding direction, I found The Comfort Crisis by Michael Easter interesting.

It’s very different from putting your phone down in an elevator. The book focuses largely on physical discomfort, which I like (I did do triathlon for eight years 😂) but the core idea that stuck with me was this: when we intentionally step outside our comfort zones, we expand what we’re capable of handling.

You don’t need to trek across Alaska to build resilience. But I appreciated the reminder that growth rarely happens in comfort.

If you choose to purchase it through the link below, I’ll receive a small referral fee at no extra cost to you. No pressure — just sharing something that shaped my thinking on this topic.

Buy it here: The Comfort Crisis, by Michael Easter.