Monday, July 16, 2007

Comfort Zone

How much of my life has been dictated by the massive, lulling gravitational pull of my comfort zone?

If you're anything like me, your comfort zone has influenced too many of your decisions. It's kept you in mediocre places and situations and relationships and done its best to silence the voice that nags, "Maybe things could be better..."

In my early twenties, I wanted to build my comfort zone and stay there for the rest of my life. I wanted the job, the town, the house, the girl, and the habits that would stick with me until I moved into a retirement home. I didn't want to think anymore.

It makes sense. Living in your comfort zone is easy. You don't have to make decisions. You just have to follow routines. You don't have to learn new skills. You just do what you've always done, again and again.

I am not judging here. I still spend much of my life in my comfort zone.

Thinking new thoughts is hard. Doing new things is tiring. The idea of following a blueprint for the rest of your life is unbelievably enticing.

Plenty of people never leave their comfort zones. I don't want to completely knock this way of life, because you can still have a lot of love, fulfillment, and contribution in your zone.

I believe there's more to life, though. There is challenging yourself, making yourself uncomfortable, and seeking the rewards that are just on the other side of a scary situation.

During those early twenties, I spent three summers washing dishes at Ivey's Grill in Gainesville, Florida. Despite my Master's degree, I loved the idea of getting my hands dirty, running around, listening to classic rock, and helping make a restaurant run.

In the dish pit, every day was the same. It was more physically draining than anything I'd ever done, but there was no real challenge to it.

I always had the chance to move up to the kitchen, to do work just a little different and harder than washing dishes, and I resisted that chance for three years.

The dish pit was my comfort zone. I knew every aspect of washing dishes at Ivey's. Cooking represented something new, scary, different.

In my last week there, before I moved to New York, I started cooking. Tickets came in, and I made pancakes and omelets and stir fries and sandwiches to order.

What a revelation: it was fun, it was relatively simple, I was pretty good, and it felt great knowing that someone else was doing the dishes for once. The work felt more useful and meaningful.

Then, a week later, I left Ivey's and Gainesville and Florida for good.

I had one thought about the experience: Why didn't I try it earlier? I resisted the challenge and ignored the reward for three years. I had a good thing going, and I didn't want to leave it.

I chose the monotonous good over a lunge for greatness. What's left are three great summers that still reek of a wasted opportunity.

It's still a struggle to integrate this lesson into my life. There are so many situations where I choose the easy and familiar over the potentially wonderful unknown.

When I moved to New York, when I go on blind dates, hell, when I order something new at a restaurant, I have had to push myself kicking and screaming every single time.

The pull of the comfort zone is maddeningly strong. But you can overcome it, and one important step is simply to acknowledge how big a presence it is in your life.

Admit to yourself that you are doing some things not because you particularly like them, but because they are comfortable. Acknowledge if you are forsaking most of life's opportunities for a scant few that you latched onto early in life.

And then, bit by bit, push yourself kicking and screaming into situations that might bring you pain and pleasure that you can't even fathom right now.

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