Hide-And-Go-Seek and Habit trails

I was the parent-teacher at my six years old’s school, the other day. That basically means I’m in the class, helping with any projects the teacher see fit to give me and playing on the playground during recess. We played a lot of hide-and-go-seek. It was funny, the playground is pretty big, but my son and his classmates, more-or-less, hid in a very small area, in the same handful of spots, over and over again.

Competitive, as a grown man can only be when playing against six-year-olds, I found new spots to hide in. Spots outside of their predetermined zone. Inevitably, after a lot of confused searching, the kids would venture out of their safe zone and find me in my spot.

Then, after they found me, that new spot would be absorbed into their safe zone. After a new spot was discovered, it suddenly became part of the game. I must have watched it happen a half dozen times.

I don’t know for sure, but I like to imagine every day, after that, when they play hide-and-go-seek, the field is a little bigger.

I couldn’t help but think how I can be the same way.

I stick, religiously, to my habit trails, unwilling or unable to explore new territories or try something new — until, I see someone else do it, or someone, somehow, convinces me that it’s safe to move into a new area.

I am a creature of comfort. And habit. And, as much as I don’t want to admit it to myself, fear.

Which is too bad, because the lesson I learned playing with my son and his friends, the lesson I think applies to life just as much as it does hide and seek, is this. The game gets a lot more fun when you get out of your comfort zone.

We hear so many people telling us to get out of our comfort zone that I don’t think we really hear it, anymore. It’s one of those white noise messages, like “be grateful.” Because we hear it from so many places, the currency of that particular coin becomes fairly devalued in our minds and we don’t give much personal thought to operating outside our comfort zones.

My wife was recently given an assignment by her mentor. She had to lay down in the middle of a public space, for three minutes, with no explanation. She chose a Hobby Lobby. Just laid down. Right in the middle of an aisle. The experience renewed our faith in humanity, somewhat. Quite a few people asked her if she was okay. All she could do is smile and say, “Yes, I’m fine. Thank you.”

The exercise was meant to show her that the thing we spend our lives fearing — other people thinking we’re weird or different, isn’t deadly, at all. Being thought a weirdo by people you don’t know, won’t kill you. It may not be comfortable, but growth rarely is.

I’m no dummy. A game of hide-and-seek with my son, my wife lying down in the floor of a Hobby Lobby. I know when the universe is trying to tell me something — to get out of my safe space. To stop worrying about what people are thinking of me. To let my freak flag fly, as it were.

Maybe the universe is telling you that too. Maybe you’ve been scared. Maybe you’ve been playing small and sticking close to home base because, deep down, you’re afraid to step out there. You’re afraid of what’s around the blind corner. Afraid of what people might say. Afraid to fail. I get it.

But I’ll go if you will.