About this time last year, I was in my best friend’s car, rolling down the highway singing along to Fall Out Boy’s greatest hits. Earlier this week, I got to do the same thing. It felt… cozy. Can a big ass Chevy Impala even be cozy? I felt like the secure, confident collegiate version of myself. I loved it. But I think it’s important to not live in that comfort.
Every so often, I need to seek out the unfamiliar. Which I did when I vacationed in that same bestie’s grad school life. I met her friends who are all on their way to doctorates and know words like “kurtosis” ( I’m just guessing on the spelling). I steeled myself to feel dumb and out of my league. Which happened a few times. But I also met new people and nourished my extrovert soul.
I’m happy I went. Like, duh. I’d missed my pal. Standing in conversations that we’re wayyyyy over my head, I was out of my comfort zone, which was okay. I survived and probably even learned something. Sometimes staying with what’s comfy-cozy is so appealing, but new experiences make you better/smarter/more fun.
I have a new method for deciding whether or not any experience is an appropriate out-of-my-comfort-zone stretch: on a scale of one to ten, how horrified would my mother be by it? I’m not aiming for a one; one would mean I’m doing something safe and expected and non-stress inducing. I’m not aiming for a ten either; I’d like to stay alive and relatively well. For me the, ideal range is between 4-8. Just enough for a raised eyebrow, maybe even an “mmph” but not so much that my mom would try to stop me.
What about you? When was the last time your mom gave you a raised brow? Let me know in the comments below!