Comfort

Every place I live seems to redefine what is essential for my comfort level and comfort zone.  Years ago, I wanted to live in places that made me uncomfortable.  It was the byproduct of a group of friends that wanted to live on the edge of charity and sacrifice.  As I look back I have no issues with having those thoughts then, but am not sure it is the best plan for me…or anyone.  Lessons have been learned since and I think humans are meant to be comfortable.

Not comfortable as in everyone is meant to be rich or wealthy, just comfortable in our surroundings.  I believe this strongly actually.  For me that has to do with things having a place and being fairly close to that place.  It means that chaos should have a little order assigned by someone (isolated in a box or corner of a room).  It means I need spaces.  Space to move.  Space to rest. Space to relax.

My current dwelling is small.  And I am not in charge of it completely.  Which three years ago would have caused me to not be comfortable, but I have changed my view of what that requires.   Just a few days ago, as I came home from work and entered the empty house I was relieved.  Not because it was empty, but because it was my comfortable spot.  It was where I had rest and …it was good.

When I was looking for a house a couple years ago, I had few demands—character in the house, something I could live in for 10+ years, a porch that fit 4+ people and a backyard that fit 20+.  You might notice bedroom, bathroom or kitchen size isn’t mentioned.  That might be strange because of the need for indoor usage in this climate, but those are the things that I equate with comfort.   I had a slight neighborhood desire, but that would have been thrown out the window for the perfect place that allowed me to host BBQ’s and sit on a front porch.  Now, I think neighborhood would be more important, defined by amount of sirens, closeness of friends and walkability.

This has me thinking what I need to be comfortable.  Does it matter whether I can leave windows open at night?  Or whether the compost bin is dirty and shared as long as it is there? Or if it is space, or time, or books, clothes, and a good paying job.  Or is it just being willing to let the place I am at be good?

What makes you comfortable?

 

 

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Filed under Adulthood, Freewrite, Obese Obsessions, Overthinking

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