I can’t count how many times I’ve stood at the edge of an unheated pool, hesitating. Arms crossed, I’ll watch the mirrored surface of the water, imagining myself leaping out, breaking the stillness, then diving down to touch the drain at the deep end.

As inviting as the water looks, I know it’s going to be chilly. If I leap, I’ll be really uncomfortable. I also know that if I walk myself in one step at a time, I’ll have plenty of time to decide that I can’t handle uncomfortable.

So I stand. I gaze. I consider. I psyche myself up.

I’ve done this often enough that I know I’ll get used to the water once I’m submerged long enough. In fact, I know that the exact opposite will happen when it’s time to get out. I won’t want to leave the warm bouyancy of my new happy place for the chilly breeze between me and my warm towel, a thousand miles away.

Knowing how this will play out and committing to the leap are at odds with each other.

So I stand. I gaze.

I think about the rewards the pool is offering. For an hour or so, I’ll be able to spin, tumble, sink, float, and move my body with more ease and grace than I can on land. I’ll submerge myself so the only sounds I hear are muffled splashes and the occasional ladder clang. I’ll feel strong and fit. Younger. Agile.

I think about how I’ll feel if I don’t swim. If I sit on a lounge chair and watch I won’t be cold, even momentarily. I’ll stay in the environment I’m used to, one that feels comfortable and easy. No stinging goosebumps. No shiver that stings my lungs.

I think about how I’ll feel when it’s time to leave. If I sit here, I’ll be no different. Nothing will have changed and I’ll be as secure and warm as I was when I arrived. If I swim, I’ll be changed. My body will be warm, cold, warm, cold, warm. I’ll be a different person than the one who arrived. There’s a feeling of power in challenging the comfortable. I’ll carry that feeling for the rest of the day.

Okay, stop. There’s no more analyzing here. There’s only a decision to be made. Leap or not?

Of course I leap. And I was right. The chill is shocking. It hurts. What the hell did I do that for? Then I recover. I swim. I adapt to my new place. I exploit it. I’m powerful.

When I get out it happens all over again. Then I’m toweled warm and dry, back to comfortable.

Afterwards I realize that I’ll be facing more chilly pools throughout the day. A new client I need to call. Being interviewed. Coming up with the right illustration out of nothing. Releasing a product. Investing my hard-earned cash in a business-building program or a web site overhaul.

In those moments when we plunge ourselves into the uncomfortable, we’re weakened. It’s only later that we discover how much stronger we’ve become by leaping.

The trick is to remember that while we stand on the edge of the pool.