Comfort Zones

Comfort zones exist for two reasons:

1. To keep us comfortable and therefore safe;
2. To show us how we are limiting ourselves and therefore stuck.

You could say it’s a matter of perspective. We can either stay comfortable and stuck, or break them and grow through the discomfort and “stuckness.”

I was confronted by this dilemma twice just this month.

I have lived alone for nearly eight years. I have not been on a date for nearly seven years and even then I wasn’t sure some of them were actual dates in that sense of the word. I have not spent a significant amount of time with one person, other than friends, since my ex left.

I think I’ve blown my comfort zones wide open. And I’m very uncomfortable. Which might be the point.

I spent a considerable amount of time with a single gay man a couple of weeks or so ago. As we were somewhat newly acquainted, there was little we knew about each other except what we’d shared through our common interest in writing. This was an entirely different setting as it was quite removed from our normal writing sessions. Going into the day, I found myself in his head trying to figure out what he might be thinking. I realized this was a big mistake as I had to also wonder where I was at this juncture in my life. I tried grounding myself to remain in the moment by focusing on the fact we were simply two friends, one helping the other. It wasn’t easy as this was new territory for me-the being out with him, not the helping. I believe I succeeded. In staying grounded, that is. Otherwise, I might have been headed into an anxiety attack of cyclonic proportions.

A recent acquaintance found herself in a desperate situation; she was in need of a temporary place to stay.

I live alone in a four bedroom house which, post-divorce, I have spent some time and money to make mine, all mine, and I’m just not ready for someone to be in my space. 

Over the years since the divorce, several people have suggested the obvious; spare rooms equal extra money. I take it they are focused on the material situation, money equals freedom, happiness and a rainy day slush fund. They’re not taking my feelings into account. They’re thinking money, money, money. (Wasn’t there an ABBA song with this title?)

Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire

From my perspective I see an invasion of privacy, the added responsibilities of being a landlord, a possible change to my routine, a huge adaptation to accommodating someone else’s ways of doing things, the necessity of learning to set and reinforce boundaries.

I also see a challenge. A HUGE challenge. Or growth opportunity; yeah, okay, whichever.

Yet, I began to think “What if I were to meet someone who valued me just as I am and accepted my eccentricities? What if he saw my age, not as a hindrance, but as wisdom? How could I get used to being with someone who wanted to be with me for the rest of my life, nearly twenty-four hours a day seven days a week three hundred sixty-five days a year for approximately the next thirty years?”

They say you can’t teach an old dog new tricks. I say you can, it just takes the old dog a little longer, not because of dementia or Alzheimer’s, but because change is hard and relearning years of ingrained habits is not easy. So, the older the dog, the harder it will be and the longer it may take.

What if the Universe is trying to tell me something?

I now have a temporary roommate.

Gods help me.

Yes, there is an ABBA song: "Money, Money, Money"