Discomfort Zone

The discomfort: Hey! He’s a lover, not a fighter The zone: He takes lessons in the Israeli martial art of Krav Maga So there I was, eating a Cool Mint Chocolate Clif Bar, anxiety forcing my heart into thumping beats, unsure if it was nerves, the green tea in the Clif Bar, or the three cups of coffee (decaf, but loads of sugar) I consumed sitting all day in a social media marketing seminar. I was 15 minutes away from leaving the comfort of my home office to drive to Krav Maga Las Vegas’ Henderson location for my first, free, drop-in class.

Editor’s note: In Discomfort Zone, we urge teetotalers to have a drink, wallflowers to go to nightclubs and — in our first installment here — convince humanists to attend apocalyptic religious rallies. To riff and ridicule? No, to open their minds by taking them out of their comfort zone — and putting them in the Discomfort Zone.