31: The Volley
About the success that waits outside our comfort zone
I am a coward in love.
I am a coward in many things to be fair, but in love in particular.
I have been single for the better part of the past seven years, and yes, some of it is because I am hopeless. I am waiting for the ever-elusive right person or the strange, intangible feeling that someone fits into your life perfectly.
But the other part, the other reason, is my cowardice.
Yes, this essay too is about work. Stay with me.
It came up in a recent conversation that, I couldn’t confess feelings for someone I liked. I’ve always expected love to grow naturally from the roots of a solid friendship. The thing about this kind of relationship is that you are usually already in a great place with the person when you realize you might like them in a new, special way reserved for love interests.
What do you do then?
For me, I always chose to do nothing.
Because I am incapable of taking emotional risks. I am too afraid. What if I lose a great friendship?
I could never recover from that.
In case you are new here. My name is Mo Isu. I am an audio producer based in Lagos, Nigeria. I am currently attempting to build a career in audio storytelling and art. This newsletter features personal essays about my journey. Everything from my biggest anxieties to my newest lessons.
You are reading issue 31
Taking Risks
I play volleyball on Sundays.
I had a great session a couple of months ago. I played in a new position: the number 6/middle back.
The way my friends and I play, this position is usually the most important defensive one on the court. The person in this position bears the brunt of the opponent’s attack and kickstarts the offence; it’s usually reserved for the most skilled players among us. I am not one of those players.
I am not the worst volleyball player out there. I have a fairly consistent serve. It’s not lethal but it gets the job done. I also have the same advantage in blocking and spiking as I do in dunking a basketball: not skill, but genes.
In most of the other positions, I have a 50/50 performance rate. I do badly half the time but the other half is enough since the team doesn’t depend heavily on me.
50/50 is not an acceptable performance for someone playing number 6. If your first receiver only receives the ball successfully 50 per cent of the time, your team will lose.
Before you continue reading, I have a new podcast episode out called Farewell Nigeria. I will share more about it at the end of this essay.
At the start of the game, I told my friend (who usually plays this position) to let me try it out till we lost 2 points. He agreed. The opponents laughed, they did not believe this was a good idea. Neither did my teammates. Neither did I.
I buckled the first receive but aced the second by pushing the ball to the setter who laid it nicely for a spike that drew us level. Then we went 4 points ahead on my receives. I went on to play the position for the entire game.
It was a closely contested game.
When we were two points from winning but level with the opposing team, I asked my friend if he wanted to switch positions. He said no.
“I want us to win with this formation”
The topic of discomfort keeps popping up in conversations about improvement. For instance, when we speak of the hustle spirit of Nigerians—the drive that makes us high achievers—we often also talk about how it is fueled by the country’s failures. Nigeria is an uncomfortable place to live.
Discomfort is not a glamourous feeling but it can result in wonderful things.
On a recent trip to Togo, a French-speaking country, I found myself reflecting on discomfort. I’ve been trying to learn French for years but have lacked the critical push to improve.
I remember my first day in Lomé, sitting in a public taxi with two other passengers, listening to a local radio station and feeling like a fish out of water. I was trying to navigate the way to my Airbnb by public transportation. I was doing so with no internet, no local friends, no working sim and no use for English.
It’s the most French I have spoken in two years.
I had forgotten what that type of discomfort felt like. It’s crazy because I know what being outside your comfort zone means. I am where I am today because I chose discomfort in the past. In 2020, presented with the option of a career that almost guaranteed a good life and one that promised an uncertain future, I chose the latter.
And now, 4 years later, here I was, stuck in my comfort zone.
When I think about my work over the past year, I see how I have fallen into the trap of comfort. I make things that sound a very specific way. I don’t pitch many stories because I am running every little idea through a thousand filters: they have to sound this way, have good stakes, be impactful etc.
I am not experimenting. I am not doing things that might not work.
And it’s all because I’m so scared. It’s my cowardice again.
I recently watched this video by Natalie Lynn in which she says something that absolutely rocked me.
“I don’t know why I, for some reason, believe in myself less now that there are actually people who believe in me.
I know it’s probably just impostor syndrome but what if it’s my brain actually giving out - after trying so hard to make this happen, after trying so hard to turn my dreams into memories”
People call it courage when I tell them the story of quitting my job and trying to build a career in podcasting. It looks like courage sometimes, choosing to follow the passion even when there wasn’t a clear path.
For me, It feels stupid. I did not have enough information when I made that decision. I wasn’t aware of how hard building this career would be. I didn’t even know what it meant to have a career in audio production. I just knew I liked doing this work - interviewing, writing, editing, sound design. I liked it. And the only option then was to try things that might not work because it was all the same. I had nothing to lose.
Somehow knowing that I could be successful has hindered me. It has stopped my growth. The opportunity cost of not succeeding feels so much bigger now that it means something. Now that there’s an equal chance of success and failure.
My team won the volleyball game with me playing position 6 and I am tempted to point this out as a moment where stepping out of my comfort zone led to success. But that’s not the lesson here.
Something else stuck with me during the game. It’s something my friend kept saying to me.
“You could have volleyed the ball”
There are two popular ways to receive a ball that has just been served in your direction. There’s the dig
Hands clasped together, this move neutralises the attack of a ball but has poor manoeuvrability.
Then, there’s the volley
I am pretty good at the dig but It’s one of the hardest ways to control the direction of the ball. The volley gives you more control.
During the game, I kept digging the ball even in situations when the ball was slow and a volley was the smarter choice. I just wasn’t comfortable doing a volley. I couldn’t wrap my head around even attempting it because I wasn’t good at it. Out of fear of failing, I couldn’t even try. Like my brain couldn’t even fathom an attempt.
While watching a game from the sidelines, I saw more experienced players change their intentions in the middle of a play. They could adapt to the situation and do the best thing for the play they got. I couldn’t do that. If I had one play in mind, once the situation around it changed, so did my ability to step up to the situation.
It’s silly but this has sat with me. The fact that when I settle into my comfort zone, I cannot even fathom doing anything outside it because I am afraid of the failure that trying guarantees. The stakes feel too high.
Why is it so hard for me to step outside my comfort zone now that it actually exists?
This is a pattern I am trying to break in 2025
It’s time for me to fail again or at least be open to the possibility of it. Because that’s what happens when you try.
Thanks for reading to the end
Since my last issue…
I made a podcast episode for Radio Workshop called “Farewell Nigeria.” It’s about Damola, a young dentist in Nigeria who is waiting for an email that will change her life… A Canadian visa. She’s ready to leave behind everything and everyone she knows including her recently widowed mother.
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I spend less time writing essays because I am spending so much time trying to earn a living. Supporting me by buying me a coffee goes a long way in buying me time to work on this newsletter.
I resonated deeply with this for 2 reasons;
1. I play and LOVE volleyball (I don't think they'd let me play 6 in a game with pros though😭)
2. I constantly run in every campaign for the Chief of cowardice. But, I noticed it and began breaking out sometime last year.
Here’s to doing better!🥂
Can't wait to see the marvellous stuff you would do.
P.S; I don't drink coffee😏
Good to know that there are other people waiting for that elusive perfection😩 I’m not a crazy person after all. Unrealistic? Maybe. Crazy? No. I couldn’t relate to other parts of cowardice. I’m too daring for alladat, just lazy sometimes.