In Competence, by Carole Howard

There I was, driving in warm and sunny South Africa on Christmas Day. It wasn’t only the climate that was reversed. I was on the left side of the road. In a car with the driver’s seat on the right. I felt like I’d gone through the looking glass.

I needed to think through my every move in advance, as in, “Get ready to shift from 2^nd to 3^rd. Gear shift on my left, check. The gears are arranged the same way as in the U.S., so it’s lower left to upper right. Lower left to upper right. Here goes.”

“Left turn coming up. Look to my right to see if anyone’s in the lane I’m turning into, check. Remember, turn signal’s on the right of the steering column.”

Right turns and four-way stops were particular challenges. It’s a good thing the gas, brake, and clutch were arranged in the “normal” way, or I wouldn’t be here to tell this tale.

Becoming inept at something at which I’d previously been quite ept reminded me of the four levels of skill development we identified in the training business.

1. Unconscious Incompetence. You’re doing something incorrectly, but you don’t even know it’s incorrect. Example: In the gym, you do abdominal crunches but you hate them.

2. Conscious Incompetence. The trainer tells you that you’re holding your head and neck at the wrong angle. Who knew? She shows you the correct position.

3. Conscious Competence. You can hold your neck and head correctly – but only when you really concentrate. When your attention turns, as it always does, to “When will this be over?” you go back to your old ways.

4. Unconscious Competence, the desired goal, training nirvana. You still think, “When will this be over?” but your head and neck stay where they belong.

My driving skills had slipped back from the fourth to the third stage. Frightening, to be sure, but it definitely made me notice things. Who ever notices all the things they’re doing when they’re driving? No one except new drivers. It’s like noticing your breath when you’re meditating.  Normally, you don’t pay attention to your breath. When you meditate, you do. Well, you try.

And this intense attention is one of the reasons I travel. It’s not just about seeing the Eiffel Tower or going to the Namibian Art Museum, it’s about noticing things – about myself, about the world – that had previously slipped under the radar of consciousness.

It’s not exactly the same as becoming grateful for things previously taken for granted, like having the hot water and the cold water come out of the same spigot. Or even having hot water at all. Or eating salad without having to worry about its bacterial level.

Yes, the gratitude is good, but there’s more to it.

Before being grateful, you’ve got to be awake. It’s not so important what I notice as that I notice. In my normal life, my comfort zone, the ordinary is often invisible; only different or problematic things (or items on my to-do list) get noticed. Being outside my comfort zone spurs me to notice things. My mind and my senses are alert. More alive. Not always comfortable, but stimulated.

For example, the sky is all around me at home, but I rarely notice it. In Namibia, though, it was exhilarating. Bigger, I thought. (Can that really be?) Between the fluctuations in the color and the clouds that were as puffy as in kids’ drawings, it was always interesting. (And I also found it interesting that I found the clouds so interesting. Why don’t I feel that way at home?)

I guess that’s why they call it the comfort zone. As with your mattress, you notice things more acutely when they’re not so comfortable.   When were you last out of your comfort zone. Notice anything?

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Carole Howard was a corporate (not physical) trainer before becoming a writer.  She is the author of Deadly Adagio, published by Second Wind Publishing.  She is currently writing a book about some of her travel experiences (I Didn’t Know Squat: Post-Retirement Volunteer Travel).