Sometimes I find myself caught in the most beautiful trap in the world.
That’s one of the most insidious things about it. It doesn’t look like a trap. Chasing comfort is like wandering into a hot tub after a night stranded in a frozen forest.
In other words, it’s freaking tempting.
Who in their right mind would refuse?
Here’s what happens. You let out a big sigh as your muscles go slack. Surrounded by shiny objects, you sink into all the soft spots and lose the will to get up.
By the time you realize it’s a trap (you’ve probably discovered this in the past, but this lesson has a way of being forgotten), it’s damn near impossible to move.
Comfort is sleeping in when you should wake up. It’s the flicker of the TV screen, blue and relentless. It’s every time you accept less from yourself when you know you should have given more.
Comfort feels incredible…
But that feeling is temporary. At the end of it, at least for me, there’s a hollow sensation that follows. My life could be so much more. But who am I to complain from my warm bed?
The craziest thing about all this?
Even after I realize I’ve fallen into the comfort trap, sometimes I find myself fighting to stay in it.
Like a captive with Stockholm Syndrome, I start to sympathize with the very things that bind me. Even though it’s impossible to always be comfortable. Even though life is nothing if not constant change.
That’s the thing about trying so hard to be comfortable. You can get all the variables just right, but it won’t last. The weather changes. Someone you love gets sick. No matter what you do, the days keep piling up.
When the default mode of life is discomfort, it makes chasing the opposite sound kind of silly.
That’s why I’m writing this right now. A reminder that it’s counterproductive (and limiting, if I’m trying to live my best life) to chase comfort is one I can’t hear enough.
But what if you tried the opposite?
Instead of chasing comfort, what if you gritted your teeth and walked into the shadows? What if you stalked discomfort as relentlessly as Sherlock Holmes?
It sounds insane. Believe me, I spent a good fifteen years doing the opposite. Yet over the past few months I’ve been working to consciously seek out discomfort.
Is there pain? Exhaustion and disappointment?
Yes, yes and yes.
But there’s also satisfaction in knowing that I’ve pushed myself to the limits – maybe even beyond them. For me, nothing beats getting in bed at night and knowing that as soon as your head hits the pillow that you’ve earned your comfort, damn it.
That’s another cool thing I’ve noticed. Focus on getting uncomfortable more often, and you appreciate the comfortable patches a whole lot more. Your baseline adjusts.
Now, I’m not as consistent with this as I should be. But on an ideal day, I’m trying to actively seek discomfort on multiple fronts: physically, mentally, and emotionally.
Physical discomforts I pursue:
- Cold showers
- Exercise
- Fasting until noon
- Waking up early every weekday (though I suck at this)
Mental discomforts I pursue:
- Reading non-fiction
- Listening to stimulating podcasts
- Working (though that one encompasses the other groups too)
- Anything else to stretch my brain
- Writing fiction every day
Emotional discomforts I pursue:
- Forcing myself to submit short stories (even though they might be rejected)
- Pitching to websites and other publications
- Putting my words out there to the world
- Limiting caffeine and alcohol
- Eating well
You get the idea. Some of these sound like small things, and they are. Yet they have a funny way of building up when you look at them cumulatively. You end up spending a decent portion of your day uncomfortable.
Maybe this is all just an exercise in masochism. Maybe I should listen to the Epicureans instead of the Stoics and pursue as much pleasure as possible…
Or not. Because there’s one thing that keeps me coming back, doing the same things over and over again that make me uncomfortable. And that’s the deeper level of satisfaction I get than I would from queuing up Netflix or stopping at In ‘n Out on the way home.
Bottom line: life is chaotic, unpredictable, and often uncomfortable.
I can either do my best to ignore that – and end up reeling every time it trips me up. Or I can put myself in tough spots on purpose. Harden up so they can’t affect me so much.
So take heart, all you gym rats and dieters, you workaholics and writers compulsive about hitting your word counts…
I’m right there with you.
albuterol inhaler
Comfort Is a Lie (Rules to Live by) – Corey Pemberton