There are places where I feel comfortable, no matter what.
My church, because it is filled with the most loving, accepting, Spirit-filled people I've ever met.
My best friend's couch, because she is a psychologist, which means she helps me through some of my crap and she calls me out on some of my other crap, and sometimes her couch is where I just belong.
The library, because it is my quiet place, an anonymous place, a place full of quiet possibility.
Then there are other places that make me itchy and jumpy.
My step-mother's house, because it was once my father's house, but all traces of him are nearly gone and have been replaced with "Tuscan" decor.
Wal-Mart, because, well, it's Wal-Mart.
The post office, the doctor's office, Forever 21, the hippy coffee shop. In those places I feel too quiet, too loud, too chubby, and too inauthentically poseur-ish.
I had a really bad night at work last night. I've only had this waiting tables gig for about five weeks, working two nights a week. Having been out of the public workforce for almost five years, it's been a stretch for me- emotionally, physically, time-management wise, and comfort -wise. It's nothing hard, and it's nothing horrible, it's just different from what I've been doing the last half-decade.
I work with a bunch of kids... people who are only 5 or 6 or 7 or 8 years younger than me, but are lightyears behind me in terms of Life Experience. They are young, they are mean, they are terribly unclassy. But then, I may or may not have acted just. like. them. when I was 18. Except the mean part, I've never been mean.
Anyway, I began writing this post just to vent my frustration, but then I got all deep and introspective and deleted it all and started over.
I realized it was more of a comfort issue than anything else.
I am not comfortable being me these days. It has more to do with being an unhealthy weight than being an ugly weight. It has more to do with choosing to spend time with my kids than choosing to spend time on my hair. These are things I can choose to do something about, or I can whine about them on my blog. Clearly, I've made my choice. For now.
Before I had kids, before I got married, I was never a person who hated or feared change. I was a child of divorce; change was a part of my life. I went on adventures, I traveled alone. I was brave. I had no comfort zone.
Something in me has, well, changed.
Now my adventures are premeditated and snack-packed. Now any travelling I do involves carseats and pacis and books on tape. Now I am only brave when there is blood gushing out of my daughter's head, or when my son goes away to camp, or my baby has filled up another diaper. (And I dare anyone to tell me that changing an up-the-back poo doesn't require bravery!)
I feel better when I'm comfortable. When I'm unchallenged. When I'm at a stasis.
But who wants to live life that way? Comfortable is good, but complacent isn't. Unchallenged is fine, but why run through life unoposed, only winning when there isn't a threat of defeat?
So, I'm not going to let the toddlers I work with ruffle my (beautiful, unkempt) feathers. I'm not going to remain, and complain about being, unhealthy. I'm not going to go adventureless for the sake of saving myself a little time and trouble.
I could easily climb up on my kitchen table, jab my finger in the air, and make an "As God as mah witness..." statement here, but I won't. I could say "from now on..." but I'm not going to.
I'm going to take baby steps. I'll stretch myself a little further, if not every day, at least every week. I'll expand my comfort zone... again. And I won't whine about it as much, because of this: