Comfort is something we all seek, isn’t it? After a long day or a stressful situation, we naturally gravitate toward the things that Right now, I’m noticing how much I want to be comfortable. Not in a luxurious way—just… not agitated. Not stretched. Not facing anything sharp or uncertain. I keep catching myself reaching for things that soothe me: chicken soup, reruns of Frasier, a hoodie so old it’s basically a second skin. The little rituals of ease. They settle something in me—but also maybe lull me to sleep.
There’s a kind of comfort that feels good and is good. Like when I sit in stillness, and the silence opens up into something spacious and kind. Or when a conversation goes deep and honest, and I feel seen, and something settles into place. That’s the kind of comfort that feels earned. Spiritual, even. Whole.
But then there’s the other kind—the comfort that sneaks in when I don’t want to face something. The “I’ll do it later” kind. The scrolling-on-my-phone-for-no-reason kind. The “maybe I’ll just tidy up a bit first” kind. I know that version of me. The one who wants to be soothed instead of challenged.
And the truth is, that version of me doesn’t grow. He stays safe. He avoids the edge. He avoids the real work, the transformative work—the Integral Life Practice I say I’m committed to. The version of me who wants growth, wants awakening, wants to live from something true… that version needs to push past the numb comfort. He needs to lean into the discomfort that’s full of possibility.
Not all comfort is created equal. I can feel that now. There’s comfort that roots me, like a quiet forest floor. And there’s comfort that sedates me, like cotton in the ears. One connects. One avoids. I want to choose the comfort that brings me closer to who I really am, not the one that keeps me circling the same old grooves.
So I’m watching it. This dance between ease and growth. Between self-soothing and self-realization. It’s not a battle, exactly. But it’s a moment-to-moment choice. And right now, I’m choosing to be awake.
