Getting Beyond Our Discomfort Zones
I have a story to tell about comfort zones.
In late June, the High School for Environmental Studies invited me to be their special guest speaker for their graduation. As usual, I did my research on the type of talk I wanted to give to high schoolers. Many of the inspirational talks out there are geared towards college students. Mine needed to feel less like I was talking at them and more talking to and with them. I didn’t finish editing my talk until an hour before I needed to go. I hopped into a suit, took a taxi down to Hunter College, and found my way into the auditorium.
Sari Beth Rosenberg, HSES’ famous history teacher, greets me at the secret entrance and I’m immediately reminded that, yes, I had something to say in this moment. The humidity had me parched. I greeted everyone and made a few jokes, but found myself meditating a bit with my eyes open so I could lock in for the task at hand. Somewhere just beyond my discomfort was a set of things I needed to say to everyone.
Before the speech happened, I agonized over giving the students a sense of hope that felt unmerited. I typically roll my eyes at people who wear rose-colored glasses, particularly those who say the Trump administration will simply come and go. American history has revisited and heightened episodes of domestic and international terror within six short months. The Trump administration has already completed 46% of its stated goals as per Project 2025, and the politics seem more daunting than ever. While mass movements have granted us a sense of awakening for many, they’ve also represented a slowing down of Trump’s agenda rather than a complete stop.
With everything going on, who can withstand the decades of collective antipathy baked into the framework of the powerful and shameless?
In these moments, I collect small instances of kindness and empathy along my path. A set of volunteers is helping a long line of elders, unemployed, and/or unhoused people get food and clothes at a local food bank. A group of organizers is handing out water bottles on the hottest day of the year thus far. Individuals and collectives push back against masked men posing as government entities attempting to kidnap innocent people. A set of mamas and aunties are gathering large sets of people for early dinners in their homes. Some teachers are coming together to set up teach-ins beyond the school curriculum.
In the midst of these sets of kindness, I hear a common refrain: “Thank God you were there.” Right now, governments near and far play god with people’s lives and deaths all the same. Maybe it’s time we each play god in a way that points towards the collective empathy we deserve.
So with that, I sit there, looking at this two-tiered auditorium filled with graduates and their families. The people look like a cornucopia against the beige of the walls and lighting. When Sari introduced me, I didn’t know she would read the breadth of my bio. I had the “adult who would pass down wisdom” slot, just after Linda Rosenthal and Gale Brewer, two important policymakers here in New York, gave remarks.
It took me a minute to take the audience in, but I had to get past my discomfort zone, too. I started with a multilingual greeting to everyone in the audience. Just as I was getting into my call-and-response for the students in the audience, a fire alarm went off. My middle school teacher instincts went off and I glanced around the audience. (Afterwards, I found out someone was stuck in an elevator in the building and it took the fire department a while to get them out.)
Some groaned, but I immediately reminded everyone of my educator background. They laughed. I think I stomped my feet twice, gathered myself, and said, “Let’s get it.”
From there, I talked about the preparation they got from the high school they’re in. The theme of the speech was “Outside,” in the sense that they would take the learning they did “inside” and apply it “outside.” It’s also a reference to some of the memes we’ve seen from New York City lore, particularly Sidetalk and Jadakiss. Like I said, this was about the students, not the adults. (To their credit, the adults also participated, including the principal and the politicians there.)
I offered three lessons: remember who you are, life isn’t linear, and think globally but act locally. I interwove jokes from their generation to things the audience could resonate with, too. I sprinkled some reminders of the things their elders went through to get them here. I didn’t have the luxury of my well known GIFs and slides, but I had a vast array of references up my sleeves. Yes, we would be louder than the perpetual (and literal) noise in our ears.
Also of note: I might have squealed when I saw, to my surprise, some of my former students in the audience graduating from high school.
After the talk, people remarked how me pushing through the alarms encouraged them to keep the ceremony going with what otherwise felt disastrous to any ceremony. I nodded with gratitude. Luckily, the alarms quieted down some for the amazing student speeches. I shook hands with graduates. My three former students embraced me, too. Sari asked if I wanted to leave through the secret entrance and I said, “I’d rather be outside!” She laughed. When we exited to Park Avenue, the otherwise quiet block became a site of exuberance, but also a slice of hope. People of multiple shades, cries, and flags all speaking the same language of celebration and gratitude lined the blocks and slowed down traffic over the next hour or so.
Not only were my former students graduating. I also saw some of my former students who were also siblings and their families as well. As the kids say, I was “in my bag,” overwrought with emotions after seeing these little ones now significantly taller. Even as I’m pursuing academic positions and grants to enhance my organization’s work, I’m reminded that my adult foundation has always centered children and the world they deserve.
That night, I couldn’t watch the news. For a moment, I let myself believe that another world was possible. I imagined that we who celebrated the students would be sending our students into a world that embraced their fullest humanity. But then, I also imagined a world where they would join us in a broader collective coalition to do just that.
In this moment, I’ve been uncomfortable with everything surrounding us. On that evening, it was time for me to push beyond that discomfort. I wish for everyone the same.