Together they left me with a simple resolution: stop optimising for comfort. For me, that means leaning deliberately into slightly uncomfortable situations. I’ve come to believe the best experiences begin where common wisdom politely suggests you reconsider.
What I want now – more urgently than ever – is to feel fully alive. Not busy. Not entertained. Alive in the slightly disorienting, full-sensory mode.
For decades we’ve treated discomfort as a design flaw in life – something to be engineered away. But chosen discomfort can be one of the most reliable sources of vitality. The problem isn’t comfort itself. It’s how easily comfort becomes a substitute for engagement. So, I intentionally place myself just beyond my comfort zone – not recklessly, not foolishly, just far enough to create productive tension.
Each week I ask myself a simple question: What will I do that surprises me? Often the answer involves travel. I’m on a long-term mission to meaningfully visit every country in the world. After more than 130 countries, I’ve learned that memorable moments are usually the most surprising.
Take Iraq, for example. Last fall – before the region erupted again in conflict – I traveled through Iraq, Lebanon, and Syria, three places most Western governments strongly advise their citizens not to visit.
One afternoon I found myself standing outside Saddam Hussein’s abandoned palace overlooking the ruins of Babylon. The palace is officially off-limits, surrounded by rusting barbed wire that looked like it hadn’t discouraged a visitor since about 1998. Naturally, this felt like an invitation.
I slipped through a gap in the fence, climbed a hill, and wandered inside. The palace was cavernous and empty, its walls covered in graffiti, the marble floors echoing with my footsteps. Eventually I reached a dais in the grand ballroom where Saddam once received visitors. Standing on that dais – slightly nervous and well beyond my comfort zone – I felt something rare: complete presence.
Every sense switched on. Travel has a magical way of doing that.
Exhilarating
More recently, discomfort took a different form on the slopes of Cerro Negro, an active volcano in Nicaragua. The activity is called volcano boarding. The concept is simple: climb a volcano, sit on a wooden board, and slide down at speed.
The hike up was hot and dusty. At the summit, my guide handed me a protective suit and goggles that made me look like a low-budget astronaut. Then came the instructions: sit on the board, lean back slightly, and try not to panic. Within seconds I was rocketing down the black volcanic slope, kicking up clouds of ash and wondering whether my insurance included a clause titled “What Were You Thinking?”
It was exhilarating. It was absurd. And when I finally reached the bottom – slightly dusty but intact – I felt the unmistakable afterglow that comes from doing something just outside your comfort zone.
But you don’t need a volcano – or a former dictator’s palace – to experience this kind of energy. It shows up in smaller ways: learning a language, starting a difficult conversation, walking into a room where no one knows your name, or attempting something you’re terrible at. Even an impromptu trip to the cinema or dinner party with friends – I have done both in the past week – can surprise everyone.
None of this is dramatic. But it stretches you.
Often we regret the things we avoided – the experiences postponed, the risks that seemed unnecessary, the edges we chose not to explore. In my seventh decade, I’m leaning deliberately toward discomfort – the zone where life feels vivid, memorable, and fully lived. And I keep asking the same question: What will I do that surprises me?
At 60, it’s not whether life can still surprise you. It’s whether you’re still willing to surprise yourself.
Adventurer Todd Miller has explored more than 130 countries. He authored the best-seller ENRICH: Create Wealth in Time, Money, and Meaning. www.ToddMiller.asia.