On growing pains

Taking a look back on a transformative season

Author

Kinsey Grant
September 10, 2021

By luck or fate or some other reason, you’ve found yourself reading an email from Thinking Is Cool, *the* podcast to listen to if you want to have better conversations. If this email was forwarded to you, sign up for regular correspondence from me, Kinsey, right here:

Good morning! Happy Friday to all those who celebrate. Bear with me for a sec...

When I quit my job in March, I felt for the first time a freedom to follow the creative winds wherever they took me. In the weeks leading up to the launch of Thinking Is Cool, I filled my days and your inboxes with pieces about things like truth, sense of self, and institutional trust—things that not only made me want to think but also made me want to write.

The other day, I felt that familiar, magnetic feeling creep in. Maybe it’s because I’m getting my sea legs with this show; maybe it’s because of something in the stars. But either way, I opened a Google Doc to “just jot down a few notes,” and suddenly I had 500 words.

In keeping with the goal of Thinking Is Cool (to share with all of you the process of thinking through big, life-altering kinds of ideas), I’m sharing the early draft of that piece today. I hope you’ll enjoy something a little different from my usual Friday newsletter. See you at the bottom.

On Growing Pains

When I was a child, I grew often—reaching my current (very tall) stature took time and a lot of vegetables and a lot of new pairs of too-short-already jeans. And growing pains.

I remember so clearly how achey my joints would feel as my body shot up like a 9-year-old beanstalk, my ankles especially radiating an uncomfortability that’s still hard to describe. Each time I felt that dull pain roll into my body, I would go to my dad.

My dad was the remedy for my growing pains, as his parents were for him. He would massage my tired ankles with rubbing alcohol to offer me relief from the hum of my growing pains. Who knows why rubbing alcohol worked...or if it worked at all—it very well could have been the comfort of my dad’s affection that seemed to quiet my aches. But it worked.

For those growing pains, I knew what would make me feel better. I knew they’d stop eventually, and I knew it would all be worth it when I was tall enough to make the volleyball team.

Today, my growing pains feel more unspecific and inscrutable. It’s a different kind of growth—I’m pretty sure I’ve topped out at 6 ft., but this new growth hurts in ways I can’t quite put my finger on, let alone ask my father to nip in the bud.

It’s because the growing pains I feel right now are emotional, not physical. My life has changed immensely in the last year—I quit my job, I started two companies, I found a partner, I moved into my own apartment. I lived through a pandemic that forced each of us to hold a mirror up to our priorities.

And I’ve come out on the other side changed—or at least changing. I have new priorities and new standards and new expectations of myself and my potential. I know I’m not who I used to be, but I also don’t feel quite like the person I’ll become.

I’m smack in the middle of an emotional growth spurt, and the growing pains seem relentless. They’ve brought a new kind of uncomfortable ache, one I wasn’t entirely prepared for—no one tells you that celebrating how far you’ve come often requires mourning the loss of who you once were. Instead of radiating from my ankles, these growing pains radiate from my heart.

I’ve never been happier, and I really mean that. But growth is painful. Growth means change, and change can be good but it’s almost never easy. Growth can feel like you’re slowly ripping apart who you once were, and just as my jeans didn’t fit my long legs after the growth spurts of my youth, it feels as if my life doesn’t fit me after the growth spurts of my 20s.

I’ve lost interest in the things that once bonded me with the group of friends I made at 18. I’ve found solace in things I never thought intriguing before. My life has changed, and that means that the people and things I surround myself with might change, too. Making peace with that has been complicated.

It’s funny—when you’re growing as a child, it’s impossible to discern the millimeters you’re adding day to day. But then one day, you’re grown. You’re not sure when it happened, but you grew. You changed.

Personal growth feels like that, too. I couldn’t tell you when I decided the “fun” of my early 20s was no longer fun, but it happened. I couldn’t tell you when I realized that my self-worth has nothing to do with the opinions of others and everything to do with me, but it happened. I couldn’t tell you when I started to really, truly love myself, but it happened.

And God willing, it will continue to happen for the rest of my life in fits and starts. As difficult as it’s been to let go of the person I was when I moved to New York City four and a half years ago, I’m eager to see who I’ll be in the next four and a half years.

I hope she’s compassionate and empathetic and emotional. I hope she still looks up at the sky and finds troves of inspiration in the way the air feels when the seasons change. I hope she’s confident and self-assured and still cries every time she watches Elf. I hope she packs as much as possible into this one life she’s been given.

Because after my 26th summer, I recognize some things: Life is realizing that there are people meant to be in your life forever and others meant to be in your life for a season. It’s okay to feel adrift sometimes but it's best to call home when you do. Never dull your shine to appease someone else.

Roll with the punches and get comfortable with change. And along the way, try your best to find your rubbing alcohol.

Taking a break from publishing my personal journal to bring you a message from our partners at Massican:

I know you haven’t invited me yet, but I’ll tell you this anyway: I’m ready for your next dinner party. That’s because I’m putting in the work now—swirling my sips, twirling my glass, and sniffing like my life depends on it.

Yes, I’m on the way to becoming a wine expert. And because I’m practicing with Massican, I’m becoming the kind of wine expert you actually want to sit next to at a dinner party.

Massican is teaching me (someone who already drinks white wine like the country club might run out of it) what really makes white wine delicious. They’re clear about what’s in your bottle—none of the pretentious foreign languages, all of the pertinent information for pairing and enjoying.

Seriously, when was the last time you heard someone say “this is 61% Tocai Friulano so it pairs well with vegetables, chicken, or seafood” confidently? Massican made it happen for me.

About $30 a bottle, low in alcohol, under 120 calories a glass, and the perfect date to your next dinner party. Pick up a bottle of Massican today, available for purchase at www.massican.com, in fine wine shops, and in select Whole Foods nationwide this month.

Thank you for reading, y’all. I know my whole thing is “thinking is cool” but other things are cool too, like introspection and sharing and emotional vulnerability. If anything in what you just read resonated, I’d love to hear from you. Hit reply and bare that soul, baby.

Some important and fun programming notes:

Have a great weekend. See you in a little.

Xo,

Kinsey