I’m uncomfortable.

It’s a good-for-you kind of uncomfortable mind you, not the sitting-in-nettles kind of sensation. It’s the kind of unease I used to feel in college when the subject matter was getting away from me, and it wasn’t so easy to follow any more. Or when somebody close to me says, “We need to talk.”

So what’s the catalyst for this discomfort? I’ve been reading the bible.  To be precise, the four gospels. I just finished reading Matthew, Mark, Luke and John – in that order – and felt uncomfortable a lot of the time.

All of a sudden, the poor are being rewarded, the meek made mighty and the disenfranchised, well, franchised. From an intellectual and historic perspective, it makes some sense I guess. The Romans were bad, oppressive and murderous. The Jews and early Christians were part of an underclass, and because we know how the story played out – we root for them and they prevail.

But there was something that had me shifting uncomfortably in my seat. It was alarmingly easy for me to relate to the rich, privileged protagonists, the very people whom Jesus is criticizing and holding up for our examination. And if I was being really honest, I’m not sure who I would be – the scurrilous but repentant prodigal son, the forgiving father – or the indignant, self-righteous brother. In so many cases and in most of the parables, things are up-ended, dislocated and out of order.

We like comfort. We like the expected. We don’t like surprises (unless they come with candles and frosting). But what we read about in these books is full of surprises, contradictions and challenges that force us to think – to take notice, to be aware.

I work in marketing and we know that one of the best opportunities for a marketer is a disruption – a paradigm shift (to use the jargon) – like a new invention, the failure of a market leader or anything that quickly changes the landscape. It’s a chance to get a new message out, to take advantage of a previously out-of-reach opportunity, and attain new goals.

We can even extend this trope to the natural world. For example, the northeastern climax forest, supported by the thick columns of beech trees and roofed with their broad leaves. Aside from the flutelike, meditative calls of the hermit thrush, not much is going on. But should one of these giant beeches come crashing down, sunlight suddenly makes it through to the ground. Within weeks a tremendous variety of new plants springs up, no longer stifled by the darkness of the old forest, but made vibrant by the new-found light.

And on a personal level, I’ve had significant upheavals – both personal and professional – some of which seemed cataclysmic and from which a recovery seemed unlikely. During one particularly difficult episode years ago, some wise person gave me some advice: Wake up. Be alert. Be present. Be Aware.

It’s these periods of change, where everything seems mixed up, that take us by the shoulders and give us a good shake. It’s startling, but it’s a great opportunity to really open our eyes and look around. (It’s like the old cinematic slap across the face). What happened? What’s going on? And if you believe that everything happens for a reason, as many do, you might ask, “Why is this happening?” (A question that is rarely – if ever – satisfactorily answered.)

So I’ve learned, from a variety of sources, to be alert for changes, however painful, and see them as opportunities – if for nothing else than a greater sense of clarity and self-awareness. And quite possibly as an opportunity to do something great.