I’m on a train to Munich, watching wheat fields slip past while listening to songs from London. For the first time in a year, I feel excited about what’s ahead. Until now, every thought of this next step filled me with anxiety—a natural reaction, I suppose. What is it about moving forward that makes us so uneasy?
I used to think it was the change itself — that each new step would somehow alter who I am. Whether it’s dyeing our hair or moving to a new city, what we fear, of course, is uncertainty; not knowing if I’ll like my new hair, or if the new place will ever feel like home. But it’s not the change that transforms us. It’s the reflecting on it. We not only fear the unknown, but the version of ourselves we might be once we face it.
I know maybe three people who this doesn’t apply to. They don’t look back, but just jump into a new adventure. When these people tell me they’re going to a new country to try their luck or starting a new job because the old one was boring, I feel two things.
One of them is envy. But not the ugly kind. It’s envy as a manifestation of admiration. I know it will never be as easy for me to leave a place I feel comfortable in as it is for them. I wish them well. It’s like being envious of an eagle for not being afraid of heights. It’s an eagle, for God’s sake.
The other is relief. I’m relieved that I like my environment and don’t feel the need to leave it behind. It’s almost like a confirmation that I am happy in life. Isn’t the fact that you don’t want to leave your happy place proof enough that you are content?
Unfortunately, not always. We have a remarkable talent for self-deception when fear is involved, especially when it comes to comfort. When comfort dulls our fear, we mistake stagnation for satisfaction. We tell ourselves that leaving might make things worse, so staying must mean we’re happy. That’s bullshit. Even if your material circumstances get worse, chasing something you care about — really care about — will make you feel more alive. You’ve probably heard the phrase “The journey is the destination.” Feeling content isn’t always proof that your life is good; sometimes it just means you’re too afraid to change it.
Today, those feelings, of envy and relief, came up again — not because I saw an Instagram Story of someone living their best life in Bali, but because I’m taking a new step myself: leaving the place I’ve called home for the past three years and moving to Munich for a new experience.
This time, the envy feels different. When I move out of my comfort zone, I’m not jealous of other people who are outside theirs, seemingly unphased. I’m jealous of an imaginary version of myself, the Kian who stayed behind in his warm, cosy bubble. He doesn’t have to deal with this uncertainty, this pressure, this endless list of new beginnings. But alongside that envy comes also a new, strange kind of relief — relief that I’m not him. Relief that I’m actually doing something about my life, that I’m moving, changing, trying.
It’s a two-sided feeling: part of me longs for comfort, while the other part knows growth only happens outside of it. Ironically, stepping into the cold brings its own kind of warmth; a sort of gratitude that comes with knowing you’re becoming someone new. London — the city I love, where I studied, and where I met some of the most important people in my life — was once one of those cold, intimidating places too. I remember feeling the same knot in my stomach before boarding the plane, the same rush of questions I couldn’t control: Will I make friends? Will I keep up with the language? Will this all be worth it?
It’s natural — even necessary — to feel anxious about these new steps. Our brain wants us to stay, but it needs us to leave. And when we do, things fall into place — sometimes only after we’ve already left.
It’s reflecting on your experiences that makes leaving your comfort zone always worth it. Whether you discover that you like your old home better than the new city, or that blonde really isn’t your colour, that reflection is invaluable. It’s what makes you, you. That’s why you can’t plan your entire life before ever leaving your comfort zone: you lack the experience to even imagine where it might take you.
But the opposite is also true: if you’re constantly pushing yourself out of your comfort zone — moving cities, meeting new people — but never stopping to look back and reflect on those experiences, you might as well have stayed at home. Only with reflection does movement become growth.
When I think about my life, my best memories stem from times when I left my comfort zone: going to that party alone, kissing that girl I had a crush on (hi Jen), leaving home for a new city — all moments that changed my life for the better. Especially leaving for a new place.
Discovering somewhere new is always as beneficial as it is beautiful. Our brains thrive in environments stimulated by community and culture. Meeting people from different backgrounds and living in a melting pot has enriched my life in ways I could never have imagined — discovering Trinidadian jazz fusion, experiencing Polish cinema, eating the best Indian cuisine in the world. I can’t wait for that to happen again.
And it doesn’t matter where. Whether it’s Munich, Vienna, Paris, London, Dublin, Copenhagen, Berlin, Prague, or Barcelona. Whether it’s a small village far away from everything I know, alone in the wild, or in a big metropolis surrounded by the people I love — there will always be something valuable in a new place, even if you can’t yet grasp what that might be.
I’m arriving in Munich in five minutes. Every time I thought about this next step over the past year, anxiety took over. The fear of doing something wrong, of making the “wrong” choice, loomed over me. But sitting here now, watching the city edge closer through the window, I realise there isn’t really a way to fail.
Even if things don’t turn out how I imagine — if the job isn’t what I hoped, or if the city never quite feels like home — the experience itself will be the thing that matters. Trying, moving, learning, struggling—that’s the point. The outcome doesn’t define the value; the act of stepping forward does.
For the first time, I feel calm. Not because I know what’s coming, but because I know I’ll make something of it.
So, when I ask myself will this all be worth it?, I can confidently answer: Of course it will, and I cannot wait to look back and find out why.
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Missed your writing so much. Very proud of you, and very heartwarming to read this from so far away while wondering all the same things. This shit is scary. But being the person who does it anyway is half the fun.
Hell yeah :”)