Day 9 - Go Karts!
A reminder of my why: This 30-day nervous system novelty challenge is my commitment to growth through conscious discomfort. Each day, I'm inviting my system to expand by stepping into experiences that stretch me beyond my familiar patterns. It's not about conquering fear—it's about dancing with it, learning from it, and discovering the resilience that lives in the spaces between comfort and overwhelm.
Day 9 brought me face to face with loud engines, gasoline fumes, and the particular kind of chaos that only comes with family go-karting. I'll be honest—smelly, roaring vehicles aren't exactly my soul's calling. But when we thought about a family outing that promised hand-eye coordination, driving skills, and togetherness, we found ourselves fifteen minutes up the freeway at Go Kart World.
The beginning was pure joy. We were all grinning like children, laughter spilling over as we figured out our machines. But as often happens when we venture beyond our comfort zones, the initial delight gave way to layers of discomfort that asked me to practice presence in new ways.
First came the bumping. My husband, channeling some inner demolition derby driver, was using his kart like a bumper car—jarring Eden and me with unexpected collisions that felt more jarring than playful. The rules, which we learned about only after a warning, were no bumping. It was a good reminder - sometimes boundaries need to be drawn not to limit joy, but to create space for everyone to find their version of fun.
Then came the motion sickness. My son's gentle question before we started—"Will you get sick like you do on roller coasters?"—had me quickly denying it was possible. I’d never felt sickness as a car passenger and definitely not as a driver. So I thought I'd be fine, but seven minutes of circling the track awakened that familiar queasiness. Here was my practice: learning to focus my attention somewhere other than the discomfort in my stomach and head. Even as my body protested, I found moments of belly laughter, proof that we can hold multiple experiences simultaneously—discomfort and joy, uncertainty and presence as I took my turns at the widest angle possible.
On the longer track, I started in the lead, savoring those precious moments of clean air before the inevitable overtaking. I know myself well enough now to honor my limits—I won't risk spinning out just to maintain first place. There's wisdom in knowing when to let others pass, when to choose sustainability over speed. Watching Eden and Dennis battle it out in front of me, neither willing to fully yield to the other, I saw the beautiful dance of competition and strategy.
What moved me most was witnessing my children begin to test their edges. I watched them discover their own "pedal to the metal" moments, finding the line between caution and courage. When they got gentle reminders about not touching other karts, I found myself thinking: sometimes the rules need to be tested, especially when someone slow refuses to let others pass. There are moments when asking forgiveness rather than permission serves growth—when that fiery energy needs to move something forward, build confidence, command more of our own power.
My own test came when I got stuck behind Dennis, who has never met a passing opportunity he wanted to offer. So I practiced the art of slowing down and speeding up, navigating the dance of avoiding his exhaust fumes while maintaining my own rhythm. Even this became a meditation—finding grace in the uncomfortable, staying present with what is rather than fighting what I wished were different.
As our time wound down, Eden and I made the choice to sit out the final track. There's profound wisdom in recognizing when our systems need rest, especially when we can make that choice together. Both of us were feeling that particular kind of "vibrating" that comes when our nervous systems have been thoroughly activated. We listened to our bodies and honored what they were telling us.
Walking away, all four of us commented on how our bodies continued to vibrate long after we'd climbed out of our karts. We delayed dinner, giving our nervous systems time to settle, to integrate the adventure we'd just completed. This integration time feels sacred—it's where the growth actually happens, in the quiet spaces after we've stretched ourselves.
Would I do it again? I'd love to try electric go-karts, where the challenge could be pure speed and strategy without the assault of gasoline fumes. But even with that caveat, this was exactly what family fun should be—a place where we all got to laugh, compete, test our edges, and discover new things about ourselves and each other.
In the end, go-karting offered me what all good nervous system challenges do: the opportunity to practice staying present with discomfort while still accessing joy. It reminded me that growth happens not in the absence of difficulty, but in our willingness to meet difficulty with curiosity, boundaries with wisdom, and limits with self-compassion.
The vibration in my body as we left wasn't just from the kart's engine—it was the hum of a nervous system that had been invited to expand, and had responded with courage.
How are your challenges going? Have you started one? Done something new even just once?