How Can I Kill My Comfort Zone?

Things have been going too well.

My life has been smooth sailing for the past few years, and I'm endlessly grateful for it. I have a comfortable job, a loving partner, vacations planned, and a tidy and neat house. Never in my life prior have I been able to say that I'm... comfortable. My house was a war zone, leaving me in a constant stress; my schoolwork loomed over me like an existential debt-fueled monster; and my pockets—once filled from the overtime clocked in high school—quickly were devoured by rent and food.

I wasn't starving, but I'd never felt a sense of self-worth. I didn't fill the space I inhabited, like a shell walking through life so devoid of value that the only place I could find myself would be on a blank, equally empty piece of paper. So I wrote. I wrote a lot, created poems that stunned my peers and made me feel alive. When I had to escape the nightmare that surrounded me, I wrote.

I no longer have a nightmare I'm escaping from. I'm comfortable.

Comfort has made writing harder than ever.

You could say I found my comfort zone. For me, it's this space where everything has gone well enough. There are issues with the job, and I'd prefer to live elsewhere—maybe a life of travel—who wouldn't? It's fair to say everyone has lofty goals like this, and it's also fair to say most people won't ever achieve them. Why is that?

Why do most people fail to live up to their dreams?

I've come to blame the very comfort I strive to achieve. My apartment is pleasant. My job is good. My partner is great. I have little motivation to push for more. The issue is, I could live my entire life in that mindset and never push beyond it. I'd never achieve some countryside cottage or a traveling lifestyle, I wouldn't push my partner and myself to grow as a couple, and worst of all, I'd never turn my writing into my career. I desire those things, but as long as I'm comfortable, why not indulge in the pleasures around me?

I've seen this happen to everyone I know. Without a constant pressure pushing us around, we're happy to sail smoothly. When those ripples turn to waves, we learn the current and paddle to a better place than we'd started. I'd like to learn how to shake the water for myself, yet every time I try, I utterly fail. I push myself too far, capsize, and hug close to my comfort zone for weeks.

What am I doing wrong?

I can't write for more than an hour at a time, even when I have time, because of the comforts around me. The less stressed I become, the less reason I have to care. Sometimes I wonder if writing isn't a passion of mine and that's why I slip up on it, but I know that the real reason is because it challenges me. My dis-comforters are things I don't need to do—not in the same way that I had to push through college. This is self-imposed, and it's hard to win that battle.

The only spurts of energy I get here nowadays are when I attend shows and see acrobats bouncing on tightropes—people who did push past that bubble and became their better selves. If I sat down and talked with them, I'd bet that they still have a journey before their final or next goal but could admit that they've hit at least one of their milestones.

I wish I had an answer to this, but all I can say is that a comfort zone is equally a curse as it is a blessing. It dulls the urgency to progress through life, yet without tastes of comfort, the stress of life would be exhausting. Intrinsic motivation comes rarely (for me, at least), and it's where true growth begins. If you've found yourself in a similar boat, ask yourself when you left your comfort zone—and when you locked yourself in. It could be as simple as leaving the house to see some friends, or choosing to order in rather than pick up groceries. Ask yourself why you did it and look at how the discomfort you felt or avoided shapes those memories.