The Power of Saying Yes: Discomfort, Dominoes & Decisions that Change Everything

We love the idea of control. Routine. Knowing what’s coming next. 

But as much as we cling to comfort, there’s an undeniable truth tucked quietly inside every cliché poster, podcast, and life coach: growth doesn’t happen when we’re comfortable—it happens when we’re stretched.

Awkward. Uncertain. Slightly underprepared.

That’s the heartbeat of Yes Theory—a movement built around one deceptively simple idea: seek discomfort. 

Say yes to the things that scare you, and let growth happen in the space between who you are and who you’re becoming. It’s not about chasing chaos or being reckless; it’s about learning to live in the unknown just long enough to discover something new about yourself.

There’s another concept that pairs perfectly with this: the Butterfly Effect. 

The idea that small decisions—tiny movements, even—can ripple outward in ways we’ll never fully understand. The wrong turn that leads to a new café that leads to a conversation that leads to a job.

The "sure, why not" that becomes a domino chain of surprising outcomes.

My butterfly moment? A horse safari in South Africa.

A friend invited me, casually, like it was a beach weekend or dinner plans. I had no real experience riding horses, no idea what “horse safari” actually meant logistically, and absolutely none of the right clothes. 

I was terrified about travelling to a country I knew so little about, let alone do it on horseback. I started to Google worst-case scenarios, crime rates, illnesses and possible injuries. 

I started to talk myself out of it, and almost politely declined.

That one decision cracked something open in me. Not just because the trip was unforgettable (it was), but because it proved something. 

It proved that I could trust myself in discomfort. 

That saying yes could be the start of something, even if I didn’t know what yet.

Since then, my life has been shaped by yes.

Yes to skydiving.

Yes to the 75 Hard Challenge (and yes, I complained through every litre of water and late night workout session). 

Yes to quitting a job that didn’t feel like me, and yes to walking into a dream role that did. 

Yes to running a half marathon despite the fact that 5km used to leave me bargaining with the pavement. 

Yes to getting up for karaoke. 

Yes to fear, uncertainty, and the slow unfolding of something I didn’t fully understand.

It has not always been clean. Or cinematic.

At one point, I had less than $5 in my account and no idea what was next.

I felt like I’d lost my identity, my purpose, and my plan all in one go. But if I hadn’t worked that supermarket job as a teenager, I wouldn’t have met the friend who introduced me to horses. The dots only connect in hindsight—but they do connect.

So, do I believe in Yes Theory? Absolutely.

But not in the shiny, influencer-on-a-mountain way. I believe in the version where saying yes is scary, inconvenient, and unglamorous. Where you spiral a bit and pack badly and go anyway.

The version where discomfort becomes something you can hold, instead of something you run from.

If you’re standing at the edge of something right now—wondering whether to leap, to call, to book it, to try—this is your sign.

Say yes.

M x