Wednesday, August 12, 2015


I guess it's a matter of terminology, equivalency, the like, to suggest we seek comfort in what we do, but suffice to say there's an element of truth there. We seek comfort in our skin, in our homes, in our jobs, comfort whether it's basic safety needs or general ability to exist and feel at peace or at home. The grand irony, of course, is that too much comfort becomes a sort of pox upon one another, eventually become a disquieting source of discomfort; of angst and doubt and fear. Skills can atrophy, passion and happiness can atrophy, everything becomes a menagerie of meaningless meandering through life, of being sick of the job and sick of the house and sick of the regular, day-to-day. Maybe it's comfortable, maybe you can coast by each day fine, not worry about being challenged or having to stick your neck out, find things come easy to you, but eventually such existence will wear you down, much like a complete lack of comfort would. There's no perfect ratio; all I suggest is that if you ever find yourself wholly comfortable, unchallenged, and lacking in risk taking, switch it up, before you become a husk of a person that this author has.

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