Shredded Comfort

Special Mission to Kuwait Assesses Damage during Iraqi Occupation

 

There’s nothing worse than feeling useless.

Well, I suppose being slapped in the face with a dead squid feel worse than that. Or having your mouth full of wasps. Or…

Okay, a lot of things are worse than feeling useless. But feeling useless is terrible. I’ve felt very useless lately. Almost all of my uselessness stems from fear. I don’t know if I’m above averagely fearful or not, although it certainly feels like it. I imagine a lot of people feel like that. We can all be unnecessarily fearful together.

I think a lot of the people who know me don’t realize how fearful I am. Or maybe they do. I certainly am more willing to do crazy stuff in public than most of my friends.  That sort of thing doesn’t scare me so much. But a lot of things terrify me that I think most people can handle.

Like this, right now. This blog post feels whiny and self indulgent, and I really don’t want to post it. Because people might judge me. The funny thing is there are a lot of things people do judge me for that I don’t care about. It only matters to me when it hits the points on my highly arbitrary and illogical list.

For example, I always grow my hair out until it flares out around my ears and looks ridiculous. I get 2 or 3 haircuts a year. By the end it’s embarrassing and unkempt and horrible. But that doesn’t bother me. What does bother me is that if I get the haircut I desperately need people will point it out. I hate attention being drawn to my hair, and friends and acquaintances always notice when you get a haircut. What’s more, they often feel socially obliged to point it out. Who invented that practice? I don’t know who it is, but he probably has sex with Labradors.

Man, I really don’t want to publish this post with the Labrador sex joke. That’s just awful. But I’m going to.

The point about the haircuts is that I know my crazy-flared-overgrown hair is much more embarrassing than a cut would be. Hilariously so. But the former doesn’t bother me, and the latter does.

Furthermore, all of my goals for the future are stymied by these arbitrary but crippling fears. I don’t like doing things that frighten me or make me uncomfortable. This isn’t new. This is the fucking human condition. Man, I really don’t want to use the cliche of “the human condition” in this blog post. But I’m going to.

And that’s the point. Trying to work around my discomfort isn’t working. Trying to wrap my fears in protective coating so that I can operate in the field without dealing with them is utterly futile. Because those fears are goddamn mines. And they are everywhere.

So I’m going to detonate the mines. I don’t have a plan for this. And honestly, I might back out as soon as I start. The reason I’m posting this here is that I find if say I’m going to do something on my blog, to whatever tiny slice of the public might read this, then I am enormously more likely to do it. Jeez, even talking about this is hard.

Starting Monday, I am going to start exploding my comfort zone. Every day, I am going to do something that frightens me, or makes me profoundly uncomfortable. It might be something like rejection training, or it might be different. I don’t know yet. I’ll come up with a plan as it becomes relevant. This all sounds terrifying and awful, but I’m going to do it. Because I can’t take being this version of myself any longer.

I don’t want to do any of this. And I don’t want to post this.

But here we are.

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3 thoughts on “Shredded Comfort

  1. Beth says:

    I anxiously await the post all about poop jokes.

  2. Mike B says:

    You could hang out with me when I show up in Seattle on the 18th of August 🙂

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