I wish someone had told me breaking out of comfort zones isn’t as easy as many of us make it seem. The subject should be written with fighting gloves on because it’s one big battle between the life we are so used to- the usual parameters, the familiar red lines- and the glorious (sometimes bloody) life beyond that.I was on TV this past Thursday. It was my first time. This is how I found myself sitting next to two ace journalists and a smart lawyer on International Women’s Day. I got a phone call- one of those calls you can easily tell by the caller ID that there’s a favour at the end of the line being cooked up and before you pick up to say hello, you already know you’ll be turning down the favour. You rehearse your voice for an apology.Only this time my apology remained a lump in my throat because my mom happened to be moving around just as I was talking on the phone. There was going to be a panel discussion about women on the theme Press for Progress. I go- “is this radio or TV?” He says TV. It takes me less than a second to run around the hall in my shorts crying no no no- not the TV, not the TV. I can’t do it. I can’t do it.The story ends with my mom screaming at the background “say yes, say yes” and 24 hours later, there I was- lights, camera, someone’s not breathing fine- but action, anyway.The theory of saying yes isn’t exactly one of the theories I tuck inside my chest and hold tight to it. I like to be ready. I love a heads-up, a grace period to get my act together. The word “impromptu” frustrates me. But life can be a whirlwind sometimes and waiting until you’re ready might just not be the answer.

If we wait until we are ready, we’ll be waiting for the rest of our lives- Lemony S.

One Thursday, I did a brave thing. And here’s the truth- I wasn’t ready-not even a little. I can’t count the number of times I’ve had to hide behind the guise of not being ready because I was too scared to take a risk. I am carrying this story with me all the way to the top. The fear was paralyzing. At the makeup booth, I told the lady I was scared as she powdered my cheeks. When I entered the studio, I whispered to the guy fixing my mic about my shaky hands. I told the other panelists this was my first. I did everything to subtly announce “do not be surprised if I mess this up. You saw it coming”Thankfully there was an encouraging word in whomever I spoke to. I gave them my darkness and they gave me their little light- whispers and back rubs of “you’re going to do just fine, you’ll see.”Comfort zones is a two-sided story we all deserve to hear. One part of it is the easy living. It allows us to curl ourselves into a ball and watch life from the inside. It is welcoming. It meets us at the door and knows all of our flaws. It keeps us from ever having to fall because it gives us a path we know so well. Then again, comfort zones are walls. It makes us shrink. It sucks the growth out of us. It does not push or challenge us. It simply does not give us more.The first two minutes had to be cut because I froze in front of the camera (thankful for pre-recorded shows). I stammered in my submissions and kept forgetting words. It was clumsy and flawed and I thought my heart will burst out of my chest but it didn’t. I thought I would break down on set but I didn’t.Small circles gathered to watch me on a tiny bright screen. Every few minutes, there’s a text on my phone saying how proud they are of me. Every few minutes, someone’s wishing it was their face being seen, their voice being heard-  their own little spotlight. And I am glad for my one bittersweet trembling yes.