I’m on my own again. ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏

I was nervous for the first time in a long time.

Last week, I hit the road to kick off the How to Let Go Tour in the Pacific Northwest.

On the first night, I called Ryan Nicodemus from the green room in Seattle: "It feels so weird without you," I confessed.

"You’re going to do great," he assured me, followed by a few funny observations about previous events.

This was the start of The Minimalists’ thirteenth tour—but my first solo run. Ryan and I had just finished touring together over the summer for the tenth anniversary of our first Netflix film, and I loved having someone beside me to bounce ideas off in real time.

But a solo show is different.

I had spent nearly a year preparing for this night—ninety minutes of spoken material, more than a hundred slides, dozens of unpublished pages—and yet I still felt anxious without my fleshy safety net standing next to me.

Someone knocked on the green-room door and gave me the five-minute warning.

I said goodbye to Ryan, hung up.

My heart raced.
My lungs quickened.
My palms were wet.

And then I realized: I’m not nervous. I’m excited.

I felt alive because I was outside my comfort zone again.

Every human has a baseline need for comfort. But with too much comfort we atrophy. The Discomfort Zone is where we stretch beyond the familiar and discover what we’re actually capable of.

The moment I walked onto the stage, my worries dissolved. I had left my expectations backstage.

What followed was two hours of flow.

I don’t remember half of what I said that evening, but I felt all of it. It was a peak experience—not despite the discomfort, but because of it.

The next night in Vancouver was completely different—different material, different audience, different culture, different responses—which brought a whole new kind of discomfort.

How delightful ... to be uncomfortable again.

—JFM

P.S. Speaking of discomfort, I’ll be in New York City in a few weeks for the next stop on the tour.

THE MINIMALISTS PODCAST

PRIVATE PODCAST EXCERPT

Because I was on the road last week, I don’t have a new podcast episode for you today. Instead, here’s a video from a recent private episode I think you’ll enjoy: Why You Feel Bad When Your Space Is Cluttered.

By the way, now is a great time to catch up on our Private Podcast archives on Patreon. Our All Access tier increases from $10 to $25 on October 1, but anyone who joins before then can keep the current $10 price for as long as they remain a member.