Comfort.

A piece I wrote for my creative writing class. 

Comfort. It’s one of those strange things that you never seem to realize you have, but obsess over when it isn’t there. Everyone rushes out to buy things that will make a new home “comfortable,” but to each person comfort means something different. But universally, when there is a lack of it, it is on our radar. There are some comforts that everyone wants, a fully belly, a place to sleep, shelter for protection. The absence of these pivotal essentials will be noticed by almost everyone, but what about the not so essentials? What about warmth, financial security, or conversation? When we are cold, broke, and silent, do we notice our lack of contentment?  When we feel alone, isolated, dismayed, do we notice it then? For some, these things are not a comfort at all. For some, silence is peaceful and conversation puts them on edge. So what makes certain comforts essential? Are these our self-declared human rights? To have shelter, food, and rest? Is there more to it than that? Would we be comforted in the middle of Antarctica, a place of isolation, so long as there was nourishment, refuge from the elements and a pillow to rest our head upon after dark? Is that really all we need? I’d beg to differ. Yes it is different for each person, but the commonalties between people are more than these three seemingly necessary things. Emotions can be a comfort as well. Feeling nervous, sad, depressed, or just plain blue, are for most not comfortable. Not naturally, anyway. Maybe it’s all you’ve known and so you’ve grown accustomed to it, but I’m certain you’d be more comfortable elsewhere, but ignorance is bliss and you know no better. And sometimes we know that we are uncomfortable, but we don’t know of a solution. We feel stuck outside our comfort zone and it’s not always for the better. So what do we do? Do we sit idly by and wait for comfort to stroll back into our lives or do we leave in search of finding it? It is not a blessing and a curse; it’s mostly a curse if you ask me. If we all lived in simplicity, we would never be able to recognize discomfort, certainly not as often as we do now. For most, discomfort is a daily experience, in some form or another. But why? Because we were raised that way. We have our own children and we want to give them the best, all along not knowing that we are actually giving them the worst. Not allowing them to be open to new things and new ways of life. Even those who are bold enough to venture into other cultures and experience life their way at some point are bound to find themselves uncomfortable because it is different. Maybe that’s what comfort is, monotony. The moment something changes, our pulse begins to race and we find ourselves searching for a way to get back to wherever it was we found security. It’s one of those strange things that you never seem to realize you have, but obsess over when it isn’t there. Comfort.