My wife and I had been dating for more than a year.

She had met my parents. I had met her parents. And we had survived both encounters with our relationship still intact.

Now the time had finally come for her parents to meet my parents.

This should not have been stressful. These were all really good people. Everyone liked everyone.  Nobody was conducting a background check. There was no dowry negotiation. No one was going to challenge anyone to a duel.

So why was I sweating like a passenger who’d just been asked to land the 747?

The plan seemed simple enough.  I would drive from my parents’ house in New Hampshire into downtown Boston. Her parents would meet us there. My sister and additional members of my family would arrive separately. My future wife would come from the airport.

Several people. Several locations. Downtown Boston traffic. What could possibly go wrong?

Almost immediately, the carefully constructed plan began to resemble an air traffic control exercise.  Where are your parents?   Did your parents park?  Where is my family? Are you still at the airport? Which entrance are we meeting at? And, most importantly: Why did we decide to do this in Boston rush hour?  Is anyone else sweating through their dinner jacket?

Eventually, everyone arrived.

And then something strange happened. Nothing. Nothing went wrong. The restaurant on the water was beautiful. The night was crisp, one of those quintessential New England evenings.  The room was filled with people who loved us. There was absolutely no logical reason for me to be nervous.

Yet the nerves had been rattling around inside me like loose change in a clothes dryer.

At the time, it didn’t make sense to me, but looking back, I understand why.  Sometimes the things that make us the most nervous aren’t the things we fear. They’re the things that matter to us.

And when something matters, our brains have an amazing ability to take a perfectly manageable situation and turn it into the Apollo 13 mission.  And doesn’t that happen far too often in our work and personal lives?

Nerves Aren’t Logical

At work, we have an important presentation. We’ve practiced it ten times. We know the material better than anyone in the room. We’ve anticipated the questions. Then five minutes before we walk in, our brain whispers:

“What if we forget how to speak?”

Or maybe our company is launching a new product. We’ve studied the market. We’ve talked to customers. We’ve tested the product. We’ve run the numbers.  Launch morning arrives and suddenly we’re wondering whether everyone involved has somehow missed something obvious.

It’s not logical.  But it is reality.  And we have to recognize the need to keep going despite the anxiety.

We Worry Because We Care

The same thing happens in our personal lives.

We worry before our kids start a new school—even though we’ve prepared them. We worry before an important conversation—even though we know what we want to say. We worry before a big game, even though we have practiced hard.  We worry when someone we love starts a new job, moves to a new city or takes a chance on something big. Preparation doesn’t always eliminate nerves.

And maybe it shouldn’t.  We treat nervousness as weakness—as evidence that we aren’t confident enough, prepared enough or resilient enough.

But sometimes nerves are simply evidence that we’re invested in the outcome.  The trick is learning not to let them take the controls.

We Are Ready

Resilience isn’t walking through life completely unbothered by uncertainty. It isn’t eliminating anxiety, doubt or that uncomfortable feeling in our stomach before something important.

Resilience is recognizing those feelings, putting them in perspective and moving forward anyway. Nerves can even serve a purpose. They can sharpen us.  They can remind us to prepare. They can keep us focused. They can prevent confidence from becoming complacency.

The problem comes when we mistake nervousness for a warning that we aren’t ready. That’s when resilience means trusting the preparation.  Trusting the process.  Trusting ourselves.  And accepting that caring deeply about an outcome occasionally comes with sweaty palms.

Greenlights Ahead

That night in Boston turned out exactly the way logic suggested it would.

Our parents got along. Everyone laughed. Dinner was great. Nobody embarrassed themselves beyond the normal acceptable family limits.  And eventually, those two families became one.

All those nerves over something that ultimately became one of life’s great memories.

Maybe that’s worth remembering the next time our stomach starts turning before an important presentation, launch, game, conversation or life event.

We can’t automatically assume the nerves are telling us to stop.  In fact, they might be telling us the opposite.  It is all green lights ahead!

Our parents finally met and a truth emerged.   The moments that make us nervous are often the moments that matter most.