You are now in a realm of not just sight and sound, but also of mind, a realm in which the difficult seems impossible and the opportunity to grow appears less attractive than the conservation of energy through sitting on your ass all day. You have just entered… The Comfort Zone.
(Cue spooky theme.)
Comfort Zones. Don’t you just hate them? You’re cruising along, thinking you’re good, you’ve done great things, you’ve achieved more than you thought you could hours, days, months, years ago, everything’s smooth sailing from now on.
Then, bam. Either you set your sights on a new goal or the weather turns nasty on you before you can even react, and for all your achievements, your first instinct is to hunker down. Batten down the hatches. The cabin’s nice and warm. Why go up on deck and do anything about the sails? Everything will be okay, right?
All of a sudden, there’s this new line – or maybe an old one you’d forgotten about – and sometimes it doesn’t matter how many lies you’ve stepped over before, how you’ve grown and changed; crossing this line is going to be uncomfortable in a new way – or that same old way that you avoided having to do before.
I’d love to tell you I’ve got it licked. Heck, I’m halfway through an eight week boot camp. After four weeks of muscle-stretching, stamina-sapping sessions of lactic acid and laboured breathing, you think I’d be pretty much busted out of the Comfort Zone concept, right? If I can still keep turning up for more punishment six days a week, every other source of stress should be a doddle, right?
Sadly, no. I’m still struggling with comfort zones, particularly the zones of “interpersonal relationships,” “standing up for myself” and “achieving personal projects.” And the desire to stay right behind the dividing line of comfort in each of these zones is stopping me making progress on a project I’ve had for over a year now: The Foxy Lady.