“Many people are alive but don’t touch the miracle of being alive.”

– Thich Nhat Hanh

The morning dawns grey and soft, or at least that’s the way it looks through my curtains. I peer through my hair, pressing the sheet to my ear to muffle the insistent strains of Mozart’s Sonata, my alarm. 

I’m tired. Getting up is hard. 

To this sleep-fogged brain, it seems illogical to push myself and get up, especially since I have no hard and fast schedule. 

Why bother? I’m so comfortable.

I hit snooze. 

Two hours later, I vault out of bed, disgusted with myself. 

Why did I sleep so late?

I scuff downstairs, lecturing myself before the day has started. 

I snark at my husband, make coffee, wander to my private journal space, and start writing. 

I start with so much potential in the morning and I don’t want to infringe on it. I’m comfortable freehanding my way through the day to discover the most important thing. 

Eight hours later, apparently my most important thing is to sit in the chair that fits my butt perfectly and read fantasy novels.

It’s five pm, and the day is gone. 

This daily spiral is killing me

My dreams seem stuck in my head.

I dream of rocking waters, the dip of a paddle, the call of the gulls. Of gravel crunching under my tires as I navigate brush, a big rock, the sun warming my shoulders as it rises. 

Sun. Rises. I’ve missed so many.

Remember that grey curtain? 

A cottony, pillowy web of comfort traps me. It’s kept me from bruising my knees, straining my back, or dealing with jerks. It’s also kept me off the water, the stage, the bicycle.

My magical butt-fitting chair has somehow accommodated the additional twenty pounds I’ve put on, bringing my current body weight to a record high. 

A kayak currently fits my butt like a pair of skinny jeans. (NOT a good look when you’re upside down in the bay and need to wriggle out of the damn boat.)

Five years ago, I was prepping for drama school. Getting up at 4:30 am, I ran, yoga-d, wrote, all before work at eight am. After work was another run, then rehearsal. I crammed two lives into one, and now? 

I’m living a half-life, coasting. 

I recently attended a weekend event with other small business women. Suddenly, instead of vague dreams of running my own business, I was surrounded by women grinding through the daily reality of it. 

In that room with other do-ers, I began to smell the life just on the other side of my chair cocoon. 

Something shifted.

What was it?

I saw the demon of comfort. 

THESE women weren’t comfortable. They were pushing themselves, facing scary things, and making connections. 

I thought comfort was my compass. After quitting a soul-crushing job at a big box grocery, I had begun the journey of crafting my own work. I sought comfortable things to do.

I would start to work, face something intimidating, (like contacting potential clients), get sleepy and take a nap. 

The demon whispered weakness into me…

 “Oh, you’ve done a lot, and are so fragile, you deserve a rest. Pour a glass of bubbly, kick up your feet, and read. Rest… ressssst…”

It convinced me that comfort was nurturing, and that discomfort meant I needed rest. 

After returning from the power weekend, I set a schedule with blocked times to work on the scary stuff, and promised myself I’d stick it out for 30 days, no matter how I squirmed, thrashed, and fought the restriction. 

For someone like me, that is a huge sacrifice. The strains of “don’t fence me in…” begin playing as soon as I sit down and look at a planner. 

But I could do anything for 30 days and I was getting desperate. The grey curtain of soft purposeless mornings was suffocating me.

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At first, I would struggle to work for just two hours. 

The butt-chair would call. 

The characters in the novels would call. 

I wonder what Jak is up to? Did he find help for the dragons?

But I also immediately felt better. I’d broken the hamster wheel. This structure gave me the map I’d been craving. 

About 20 days in, I saw the demon for who it really was. 

I was holding a downward dog when my recorded yoga instructor mentioned “Thriving in discomfort”. 

Thriving.

Discomfort. 

Wait…

Aren’t those two mutually exclusive? 

And..

When did I swap out thriving for comfort? 

That ugly little demon was lurking in the corner, pouncing on me every time I got stressed, scared, or tired. It weighed me down and tied me into the butt-fitting chair with that numbing grey curtain.

Suddenly, I had a new compass. 

What makes people thrive? 

Thrive:  grow or develop well or vigorously. Prosper; flourish.

Comfort is not what makes living things thrive. 

• Plants flourish with a bit of stress: My pothos grew a thicker stem when I let it hang and support its own weight. 
• The outer trees in a stand build heavier cell walls to hold them against winds. 
• Our own cells need stress, “movement vitamins” as Katy Bowman calls them.

Our bodies, brains, and spirits need discomfort and challenge to grow, so we can flourish as full human beings. 

Ways to move from comfort to flourishing

To fight this comfort demon, first we need to 

1. Recognize it 
2. Counter it 
3. Do something challenging
4. Dig for deeper patterns 

Let’s look at each of these steps.

Signs that the comfort demon is whispering to you:

• You try to plan a call, a trip to the store, an email, and your brain gets numb and drifty.
• You forget to do that one important thing that you really want done. 
• A muscle burns, and suddenly you’re fiddling with the yoga mat instead of holding the pose. 

For me, it starts at my eyes: my eyelids get heavy, puffy feeling, like I’m sleepy. 

How to stop the demon

As soon as you sense a signal, interrupt the cycle. That comfort demon wants to keep you asleep. 

Your first response is to wake your body and spirit. Try these techniques:

• Take 5 big blinks: open your eyes as wide as you can, and close them, five times in succession, like you’re stretching your eyelids. 
• Get some sunlight: signal your brain, body, and energy field that you want to be awake, to be present in life. 
• Take 10 deep squats, or sit/stand in a chair without hands if possible. 
• Take 10 deep embrace breaths: reach up, while breathing in. Think of scooping in air and life, hug it to you as you breathe out. You grab that flourishing life that the universe promises you. 

Do one little thing that makes you uncomfortable: stand tiptoe on one foot. Walk with an over-full glass of water. Something fiddly. 

Then sit down and make that one call that has been looming over you. Send the email. 

Don’t perfect it, done is better than perfect. 

Where can you face a little discomfort in your life? 

Ask yourself where you need to grow. Tell yourself that discomfort is ok and seek it in small doses. 

Some examples where I’ve incorporated discomfort in order to grow:

• Discomfort of contacting people to sell my writing services. 
• Get up early in the morning and get on the yoga mat. 
• Get out on the walk/run. 
• Sticking to a schedule (have I mentioned this?)

What things do you habitually avoid?

As you learn to recognize and interrupt the comfort demon’s whisper, you will see patterns: your best efforts go astray or you get too tired to think something through. 

You may be running into a deeply ingrained fear or belief. These big ones may take some time, journaling, reflection, coaching or counseling. 

Be patient with yourself. Don’t replace the comfort demon with your inner bull. She’s not a lot of help, either. 

Just seeing the pattern is a start. Get curious about it. 

For example: 

One of my patterns is to plan, then lose confidence in the plan and make a new one

…and a new one

…and a new one. 

I hold a fear of being restricted, of committing, of missing out. To stick to a plan/schedule, I have to tell myself that I actually get more freedom and have more options by following the plan. It’s not the plan that needs to change, it’s me. 

Now, after following my schedule for 30 days, I’ve kept the parts I didn’t like, embraced discomfort, and made more contacts than ever. Yes, I will tweak it, but I won’t abandon it, now that I see that pattern. 

How to deal with fear

You don’t have to get comfortable to tackle the scary things: Fear is ok. Learn to function in fear instead of avoiding it. 

Your body responds to fear and excitement the same way. 

Try this actor’s trick: tell yourself you are excited (rather than nervous) to do this thing – the adrenaline response is similar, and your brain will harness that energy with joy. 

With a simple mind-shift, I find myself leaning into discomfort like a plant seeking sunlight. 

Now, when the strains of Mozart waft through the bedroom, I may groan, but my new compass reframes my logic. 

Now, it’s logical to get up, get that run in, and write. Discomfort is desirable.

Later, when it’s time to contact people, and my sleepiness strikes, I stretch, walk around the block, and promise myself to make just one call, email, pitch. The scariest one on my list. 

I now have two client appointments set, and I’ve contacted people I wouldn’t have dreamed of reaching out to just a month ago.

Seeking discomfort will strengthen you. 

You’ll flourish. Surely flourishing is better than comfortable?