There’s a quiet kind of discomfort that comes with being in unfamiliar places. I’ve always been a bit naive, not in a careless way, but in the sense that I don’t overcomplicate things. I usually get by with simplicity. But simplicity doesn’t always shield you from feeling out of place.

Whenever I enter a new space—be it a room full of strangers or a new city—I feel like I’m standing at the edge, watching others move with ease while I hesitate. I don’t talk much in those moments. I observe, I listen, I wait. If the place becomes familiar or the people become familiar, something shifts. I begin to feel close, connected. But the beginning? That’s always awkward.

One memory stands out vividly. I studied in a government school—humble, grounded, and practical. One of our school students went on to join a prestigious college after finishing the school, and during a fest there, he invited a few of us to participate in a competition. We were excited, curious, maybe even a little proud. But when we arrived, the college felt like another world. The campus was sprawling, the students looked polished and confident, dressed in vibrant clothes that made ours feel plain. I remember thinking, I don’t belong here.

It wasn’t just about clothes or appearances. It was the energy—the way people carried themselves, the ease with which they spoke, the confidence that seemed to flow effortlessly. I felt small, unsure, and deeply out of place.

But here’s what I’ve learned since then: feeling out of place isn’t a flaw. It’s a sign that you’re stretching beyond your comfort zone. It’s the first step toward growth. That college fest didn’t change me overnight, but it planted a seed. It made me curious about the world beyond my own. It made me want to understand, to learn, to evolve.

And it happened. Ironically, someone as shy and awkward as me ended up traveling across India during the early years of my career. I hadn’t explored much before—not even my own city, really. Yet work took me to places I’d never imagined visiting. Each journey chipped away at my hesitation, teaching me that unfamiliarity isn’t something to fear—it’s something to walk through.

Even today, I still feel awkward in new situations. I hesitate before speaking, unsure of how I’ll be received. But over time, I’ve learned to embrace that discomfort. It hasn’t disappeared—but I’ve grown used to it. The awkwardness still lingers, but now I know how to manage it, how to move through it without letting it hold me back.