Since when is comfort bad? Who doesn't love a leather flat or peep-toe sandal you can go miles with and not get a blister? Or panties that don’t ride up and in your crevices or skinny jeans with a bit of stretch (one of the best inventions of modern man). Of course being the tipping scale, look-at-life-from-both-sides-now Libra that I am, change is good too. Even the words for it are magical - metamorphosis, rebirth, revolution. Most of life I’ve awaited change, even ran after it. Sitting still was never really an option, instead the loose wires in the brain constantly buzzed go forward, move ahead.
It does one good, this wanderlust. Go to school, talk to a stranger, learn, read, explore. It also tires a girl out. So much so that she can get lazy. Because after years of the chase and the run sitting in a comfy chair feels good. Too.
And here in lies the conundrum. I’m bored mostly stupid. I eat and drink it away at night. As far as career goes I’ve worked hard, honed the elusive “it” quality needed for success in the business world and am really good at what I do. And it's dumb and unfulfilling (for me now). For months and months (maybe years) I've loudly pecked at a safe and warm shell that holds the nutrients to sustain me at the most basic level of existence but never cracked through. Because damn if it’s not perfectly adequate in there.
So I do nothing to change other than think about it, and have grown to truley dislike this about myself.
This morning I turned to an anonymous page in that fat little paperback that sits on my desk and read:
Action time: Zen master Tue Trung Thuong Si said, “What’s the good of discussing a musical masterpiece? It’s the performance that counts.” Be honest with yourself on the subject of when you’ve talked enough about your ideas and dreams, and when it’s time to put your planning into action.
I dated that passage with ink and folded up the bottom corner of the page. At least I did something.