I spent my weekend outside of my comfort zone although I didn’t wander far. Only to Denton on Saturday with my son and Carrollton on Sunday with two dear girlfriends. Now’s that sad that such few miles take me out of my zone. Except it really isn’t. I like my comfort zone. We baby boomers have worked hard to get to our comfort zone. Like generations before us, we struggled and fought years for equal rights in the work place, equal say over our bodies, and equal rights for the minorities. We feel that we’ve earned the right to snuggle into our comfort zone at this time of our lives.
My comfort zone is the place where I nurture myself, unwind from the stresses of work and the world and I only step out of it with special people in my life, my son and close friends. When I’m really blessed, a new friend like Alexis will drop into my comfort zone for a short visit.
Other times we have to clean out our comfort zone. I had to do that this week—a chore I needed to do several years ago but kept putting off like cleaning out the clothes in my closet that no longer fit. I resigned from my writing group that has been a major part of my life for over fifteen years. This should have been more painful than it was and that makes me sad. But it taught me that our comfort zone isn’t stagnant; it breathes in and out and can’t nourish us unless we keep it fresh and renewed.