I am well outside of my comfort zone, but I am seeing progress.

In April, I spent 15 hours running and covered 103 miles. Is it a bit of a humble brag? Well, yeah! But considering that back in February, before I joined a running group, my longest run since high school was three miles, I feel allowed. Today, it’s twelve miles, and I’m looking forward to completing a half marathon this fall. Never did I think I would voluntarily do such a thing.

Neither did I think I’d throw myself so wholeheartedly into my Kind Light work this year. I wrapped my sixth shoot for the series in April, and I’m excited to keep sharing more of these extraordinary humans soon. I have a much clearer vision now of what I want this project to become, and it turns out, the more miles I run away from my comfort zone, the more clearly I can see where I’m going.

During that most recent shoot, I recorded this gem:

“I don’t think life is made to be easy, and I’ve become okay with that through the years,” he said. “The world isn’t here to make it easy on us and feed us. I think we’re supposed to struggle a little bit, and to shape ourselves through these struggles. That’s what shapes our personalities. As human beings, we are constantly in motion. I look at some people I know who have chosen an easy route time and time again. I wouldn’t say their lives are necessarily boring, but they’re just very much the same as they were 10 years ago. Nothing has changed because they keep picking the easy option over and over and over again. There is no evolution. The challenges and struggles help us evolve and stay in motion.”

My cousin-in-law Sam lives by this, though he’s never said it quite like that, at least not to me. He’s the kind of 27-year-old man quilted with muscle and powered by pure wanderlust. The kind of guy who laces up his shoes and runs 10 miles when he can’t sleep. The kind of guy who hops on his motorcycle and rides a few hundred miles down I-95 just to join me for the Cooper River Bridge Run. He lives in a state of near-permanent motion and somehow still has energy to spare.

Since it was my first 10K, I didn’t have a previous time to submit and got relegated to one of the back corrals. Sam, who registered two nights before the race, was somehow assigned to corral A.

“Well, I’ll see you at the finish,” I said that morning as he started walking toward the front of the pack.

“Let’s just walk up there,” he said casually, as if we weren’t about to commit bib-color fraud. He strode off like he owned the place. I glanced down at my bib, very much the wrong color, but shrugged and followed him anyway. We slipped under one rope after another, ascending the supposed ranks of Charleston’s finest runners. No one stopped us.

Somewhere around corral C, Sam paused to admire one of our local newscasters on the scene.

“Go ask if she’ll interview you,” I said in jest.

Without hesitation, he strutted over, introduced himself, and asked for a selfie. She laughed and obliged. I laughed too because even in my 20s, I never had the cojones to do something like that, and it never got better with age. I’m more of a politely-nod-from-afar type.

We reached corral A with zero drama. When the gun fired, Sam trotted backward for a few steps, saluted me goodbye, then turned and took off. He finished somewhere in the mid-40s. My goal was anything under 54 minutes, and I managed a 52:30. After the race, we celebrated with a beer, good company both new and familiar, and a well-earned Mexican meal.

“I guess we should find the buses back at some point,” I said, checking my watch.

“I think I’m just going to walk back,” he said, as if we hadn’t just run ten thousand meters. He didn’t even blink. I never felt judged, just invited. So I shrugged and said, “Ok, that sounds good!”

I ended up with more than 12 miles and 25,000 steps under my feet that day.

I write all this to say: I have wandered way out of my comfort zone in many ways this year. I have struggled and faced challenges, and I have seen progress—in my personal life, in my fitness life, and in my professional life. And with that progress, I’ve found something even better than comfort: clarity.

I now have a stronger sense of direction with Kind Light, with running and fitness, and with the relationships that anchor my personal life.

None of this has been easy—physically, emotionally, mentally—but easy isn’t really the point. Progress is. Staying in motion is. And the farther I get from my comfort zone, the more I realize I’m just finally headed in the right direction.