We talk about comfort like it’s this boring thing to avoid.
We should want adventure. Crave adventure. Pursue adventure.
Like adventure is the goal. We should want to travel and explore and not settle down because settling down is the beginning of losing yourself and the worst thing you can do is lose yourself in the service to others.
The joy is in the butterflies and the uncertainty disguised as possibility.
We should want more. More money. More stuff. More notoriety. More adventure.
We should offer less in our efforts to get more. Less compromise. Less understanding. Less effort.
We should be given more in exchange for our less.
Comfort is the antithesis of adventure and the enemy of living.
But as I get older the more I want the comfort and the predictability.
Knowing my kids are home safe.
Coming home at night and falling into the warm embrace of my husband.
Calling him everyday after work and hearing his voice on the other end of the line.
Knowing that both those things are waiting for me after I’ve spent the day in the hustle and grind.
Knowing that I have a hustle and grind that will keep a roof over my head and heat on in the winter and keep food in the pantry to forage through when my stomach starts grumbling.
Waking up in the morning to coffee brewing and my kids asking to sit and snuggle. Knowing that’s how my mornings will start.
Feeling the peace of quiet at night.
The older I get the more I want the calm in my belly and the slow beating of breath.
The more I want the calm of routine over the chaos of adventure.
Routine is an underrated privilege disguised as settling and the worst thing we can do in life is settle into a routine.
There’s something to be said for walking in the nearby woods over exploring foreign castles and smiling at strangers over trying to impress them online.
There’s something to be said for sitting by a window in your living room as the sun rises and letting your mind wander. There’s something to be said for daydreaming and doodling over creating and constructing. There’s something to be said for the privilege of comfort.
I don’t know. I just don’t think comfortable is boring.
Comfort opens the door for feeling safe enough to make eye contact and I don’t think I have to tell you the butterflies eye contact can provoke.
It elicits the desire for dropping down guardrails and breaking down walls.
It makes us want to share our stories and feel our feelings. It makes us want to come alive.
It makes us feel safe enough to talk and heard enough to listen.
It allows us to sit with our lovers in the discomfort and stay when we want to run.
It gives us the strength to walk beside our friends and family in moments where we’re helpless and hopeless.
It gives us hope.
It gives us partners.
It gives us community.
Maybe we’re looking at comfort all wrong.
Maybe it’s where the real adventure lies and where the real living can begin.
If you like what you’ve read, then you’ll love my book (I’m pretty sure).
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