Comfort- (1) a state of phyrical ease and freedom from pain (2) the easing or alleciateion of a person’s feelings of grief or distress. (www.dictionary.com)
Being comfortable is a part of the American dream. Or it least it should be, because these days, it is all I want. In my 20’s I though comfort meant a padded bank account, beautiful furniture, glorious hips, and an amazing reputation. I fought for it, and always came up short. My eyes were focused on the wrong kind of comfort. I see my kids striving for similar comforts, and I want to tell them–NO, that’s not what it really means.
We don’t have a perfect life. We have our mountains and valleys, our triumphs and defeats but one thing I do have now is comfort.
My skin-I am comfortable with who I am. I am not as thin as I dreamed of, but I am okay with that. I have red blotches on my skin, but I am okay with that. I am pale, probably glow in the dark pale, and I am okay with that.
My family-As a young mom, I always thought I had something to prove. I felt like I had to prove I could do this parenting thing. I am okay now. I love my kids, and we know what is best. I am comfortable with that.
My choice to homeschool-It fits us. A lot of people don’t agree, but we wouldn’t want it any other way.
My friendships-I talk to everyone. I bring everyone together, but I am so happy (and comfortable with) my small circle of friends I can count on, that can count on me.
Growing up is hard work, but being comfortable enough to scream THIS IS ME, by what you do and how you live your life—that makes it worth is.
Be careful though, don’t get too comfortable.