Tuesday, January 27, 2026
I wish to impress upon you the exhilaration of a discomfort zone. Few know the joys of pushing comfort. These are “awkward” situations; “uncomfortable” positions; “compromising” conundrums; “close calls;” “embarrassment;” seen without pants; fully exposed on stage; locked up in a room with nothing to do; being single; jobless, and on and on.
Zones of discomfort beckon. This enlivens you. Moving towards comfort deadens you. Die with zero in the bank. Leave the planet with zilch. No money, no prestige, no identity. Leave no inheritance. Use it. Be generous. Then you’ll see aliveness.
Putting yourself under a bar and squatting heavy weights – that’s discomfort. A 3-minute plank – yikes! Letting your bank account go down to 0 – butt clenching catastrophe. Fasting for a week – no way! Going to a nude beach – over my dead (naked) body. Public speaking? I’d rather go to a regular beach, be the only one naked, and pass out comment cards about my body.
I quit two jobs and have had no income, going on 3 years now. That was a big discomfort. I write on this blog and invite the masses to read it – I might as well start a Only Fans page. I run with skimpy running shorts, shirtless around my neighborhood – (palm to head). No makeup? No undies? No bra? No toupee? Unthinkable.
I’ve said it repeatedly, but comfort zones are overrated. Pushing one is overrated too. I’m talking about plopping yourself in one. Learning to do what used to scare you and see that you can enjoy it. Do without! Toss your phone, your lipstick, and your junk food. Huge crowds? Whoa! – time to go out there and mingle.
There are so many ways I wish to be uncomfortable. I want to become so uncomfortable, I’m comfortable with anything, anybody, and with nothing at all; and everything, including (and especially) kicking the bucket.