THE COMFORT OF FIRST

 By Jaryl Mae Catipay

There is a reassuring comfort in the uncertainty of the unknown.

 

The comfort of ignorance, of oblivion, of the blissful lack of certainty about what lies ahead— there is something inherently reassuring about the obscure new paths that stretch out before us. The uncertainty of yet-to-be that somehow pushes us to take bold and daring risks.

 

Each step forward is a silent pat on the back for our younger selves, not for being reckless, but for being brave— to take steps, to risk… to try, even if we do not know any better. And even when the aftermath is not in our favor, there is still the "comfort of first" to fall back on, as we slowly hum in reassurance that, "it's fine if I don't do well, it's my first."

 

This "comfort of first"—  the permission we grant ourselves to be beginners, novices, and learners is a powerful salve that eases the anxieties of embarking on new experiences. Whether it's the nervous excitement of stepping onto a bustling college campus for the first time, the trepidation of walking through the doors of a new workplace on day one, or the vulnerability of venturing into an entirely unfamiliar situation, embracing the freedom and flexibility of a "first" can liberate us from the crippling pressure to perform flawlessly.

 

Yet, as we move through the various stages of our lives, it's all too easy to feel a sense of unease when faced with something that is no longer a "first." The transition from freshman to sophomore year, or from entry-level to mid-career, can bring with it an oppressive expectation to have it all figured out. The unbearable weight of expectations presses down, demanding we be masters because we are no longer novices. There's no room for uncertainty, no tolerance for the natural ebb and rookie mistakes. We're supposed to breeze through every challenge, to be the seasoned prodigy who makes it all look effortless. Anything less than total, immediate competence is seen as a failing, a mark of inadequacy.

 

However, I would argue that the "comfort of first"— the permission we grant ourselves to be beginners, even in the face of change and growth— can and should extend beyond just those initial experiences.

 

After all, this is our first life, our one and only journey through the human experience. Each phase, each milestone, each new challenge is technically, our first, no matter how many times we may have traversed similar paths before. Just as we embraced the freedom and flexibility of being a "first-year" or an "entry-level" employee, we must continue to cultivate that same openness and self-compassion as we progress through the chapters of our lives.

 

The transition from one stage to the next may no longer carry the pure, untainted excitement of the very first time, but it is no less deserving of the "comfort of first." After all, each day, each endeavor, each relationship is, in its own way, a new frontier— a chance to learn, grow, and embrace the uncertainty that makes life so rich and rewarding.

 

By having a mindset of perpetual "firsts," we free ourselves from the burden of perfection and the crippling stigma of the unknown. We allow ourselves to be curious, adaptable, and unencumbered by the weight of expectations, both internal and external. In doing so, we not only navigate the challenges of life with greater ease, but we also unlock the transformative power of continuous self-discovery.

 

So, the next time you find yourself facing a new chapter, whether it's your first day of college or your tenth year at a job, remember the comfort that lies in the unfamiliar. Embrace the freedom of the unknown, and trust that, even if it's not technically your "first," you can approach it with the same sense of wonder, resilience, and self-compassion that carried you through your very first experiences. For in the face of the unknown, the obscure path ahead can be more reassuring than the burden of mastery.