Comfort

As I scrolled through a ton of email from the loops to which I subscribe, I can came across some wisdom notes. The title of the post was “Comfort”.

My first reaction surprised me. Want to know what it was? (Too bad. I’m tellin’ ya anyway.)

“I don’t want comfort yet. I don’t ever want to be too comfortable.”

I wonder how many people feel that way.

I’ve been trying to listen to my intuition, to my first response to things. That first response is often the most honest. And, honestly, I don’t want to get too comfortable. If I get too comfortable, will I become lazy? Will I sit on my haunches and watch the world go by?

I can not think of anything worse.

Discomfort in moderation (as with everything else) is a good thing. It’s that thing that spurs us to alleviate the discomfort. It gets things done.

I’m uncomfortable with my writing in so many ways, but it spurs me to learn, to stay up late to “fix” something only to “unfix” or “refix” it tomorrow. I don’t want to forever call myself pre-pubbed, so I continue to work for a story that will alleviate that particular discomfort. I don’t want to be midlist forever, so I’ll always be working for that best-seller. I don’t want to just have all I imagine on the paper pages of a book, so I’ll strive to write something that would make a great movie.

Nope. I don’t want to be comfortable.

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
--- Dylan Thomas ---

That’s me. I want to rage against the comfort that would keep me from pushing forward for one more achievement. I want to fight against where I am to get where I want to be.

So what did I do with that “comfort email”? I deleted it.

Rage.

Macy