comfort zones

I’m sure that most people who hear the phrase “comfort zones” automatically link it to “stepping out of” them, crossing the boundaries of our own familiarity and security into something entirely undiscovered. That phrase reminds us of leaving what we deem comfortable and stepping into new territory, whether that be trying new foods or going skydiving or moving away from home for the first time. But comfort zones are our homes; leaving home or trying new things can be scary for a lot of people, and it is. We don’t want to introduce ourselves to new environments and experiences because change can be this big terrifying thing that pulls us away from the homes that make us feel safe.

In a sense, comfort becomes synonymous with happiness. We associate what is familiar to us with what makes us happy, what makes us content. Happiness is familiar, it’s simple and clean and inexplicably comfortable. Stepping out of our comfort zones could mean stepping out of our happiness. It means stepping out of the sense of safety, the sense of home.

Surely, this would ring true for everyone, right?

Unless, of course, some of us don’t feel comfortable in our own homes. Unless that sense of security and safety and home that we’re supposed to feel doesn’t feel complete. Like that fulfillment we’re supposed to have from familiarity and comfort just isn’t there.

And we crave it. We desire more than anything to finally feel at home in something, anything. We desire that sense of belonging, that sense of family that makes us not want to leave our comfort zones in the first place. We desire that happiness. 

Some of us find that happiness in certain hobbies. Some of us find that happiness in friends or lovers or family. Some of us even find that happiness when we leave home to discover a new place to belong.

I found that happiness 240.1 miles from home. I found more comfort being surrounded by complete strangers than I ever felt in a town that I hadn’t even seen. Never in my life have I felt more comfortable that sitting right here, typing on a computer named Clementine, listening to one of my favorite artists sing about leaving home.

People may ask me what is was like leaving home for the first time. Friends of my mom may say something about “stepping out of your comfort zone”, and I’ll smile and nod and agree with them because I don’t truly know how to describe just how at home I feel without being back home. I can’t describe how the kids I hardly know already feel like family or how naturally my adoration for them comes.

And I certainly can’t describe why this place feels more like home that the house I’ve lived in for the past seven years of my life.

To me, home is my comfort zone. It’s where I’m free to be authentically me. I couldn’t be authentically me in a town where I’m not allowed to walk around town with my friends. I couldn’t be authentically me in a town where I couldn’t be true to myself.

But my home is here. My home is these old walls restored from decayed academia. My home is the ramen noodles I cook in the microwave when I don’t want what’s been served for dinner. My home is walking around town with people who are here for the exact same reasons I am.

Comfort zones’ nomenclature comes from just that: they’re where we feel most comfortable. And I feel more comfortable in a town I still have two years left to see explore than in one I spent seven years doing nothing in.

This is my home. This is my comfort zone. And nothing can take away the overwhelming sense of complete and utter happiness that I feel here.

Author: Madison Cox

madison: known for being very loud and very short and also a little sad. finally embraced her inner hipster. typically can be found listening to music or writing something. very fond of sweaters, hugs, and chucks. thinks capital letters are overrated. enjoys typing like a child but speaking like an adult. really wants to write books one day. View all posts by Madison Cox