As spring arrives, the sun over the ocean, when we look out the window, feels like a perfectly set scene for new beginnings. And along with the cherry blossoms and vitamin D comes one emotion that lingers in the background of those very beginnings: awkwardness.
Oftentimes, we perceive awkwardness as a social hindrance. And it can be. It shows up in small moments — when you forget exactly how a proverb goes, or when you suddenly become highly aware of the way your arms are positioned, like they don’t quite belong. It’s the discomfort of forgetting the unspoken language of a new group or a new person. But what if awkwardness is actually the key to knowing when something matters?
I recently began a new experience as an EMT and found myself face-to-face with this feeling. I had to learn new people, new systems, and even new names for things I had never heard before. In the beginning, I felt off my game. I fumbled through the equipment bag when asked to grab something, hesitating for just a second too long, aware that everyone around me seemed to know exactly what they were doing. I became hyper-aware of how I was standing and constantly questioned where I should position myself. I cared about the impression I was making in a new environment and how well I could perform my role. Despite this discomfort, the world around me felt amplified.
I’ve noticed how appealing it is, especially for people our age, to maintain a kind of composure or quiet authority. We choose to present ourselves as effortless and in control. I catch myself trying to do the same more often than I’d like to admit, but sometimes that “presence” is just a way of hiding behind practiced confidence. Avoiding awkwardness might make us seem more put together, but it also keeps us at a distance — from people, from new experiences, and from anything that requires us to not already know what we’re doing.
When we step into something unfamiliar, awkwardness is almost inevitable. It means we don’t know the rules yet. But it also means we’re paying attention, and more importantly, that we care enough for it to disrupt our usual sense of ease. Awkwardness thrives in uncertainty, and in order to take on new beginnings, we are bound to feel uncertain in many social situations.
But a lot of that discomfort doesn’t even come from the moment itself, it comes from how we interpret it afterward. We replay what we said, how we stood, what we should have done differently, assuming the other person noticed every detail just as much as we did. In reality, they’re likely too focused on themselves to dissect our every move. And yet, we turn inward, becoming overly aware of ourselves in a way that keeps us consumed by our own world and holds us back from engaging with the world around us.
If we let that fear take over, it makes us hesitate before speaking, before stepping forward, before fully engaging in something new. It could even prevent us from putting ourselves out there altogether. In doing so, we don’t just avoid awkwardness — we miss out on the very experiences that would have made us more comfortable in the first place. We hold back from saying what we actually want to say.
Awkwardness isn’t something that holds us back. It’s something that shows us we’re stepping into something new that we haven’t learned how to belong to yet. And maybe the feeling we try so hard to avoid is actually one of the clearest signs that something matters to us. And it might be worth all the small, momentary discomforts of being a little awkward.
