We the People: Taking Stock of Our Comfort Zones

To train for a marathon, I ran uphill from Georgetown, which sits at 8500 feet above sea level, on the bike path paralleling the highway. When I got to Bakerville at about 10,000 feet, I paused to sip Gator Ade and enjoy a banana. I then continued onward for another mile or two before reversing course and heading back down. I estimated I ran about eighteen miles, which seems a lot except a marathon is twenty-six plus miles.

Once I committed myself to completing a marathon, I knew I had to step up my training. What better way than to run uphill at high altitude? It was slow going, but speed wasn’t the goal. Legs, lungs, and heartrate were. It pushed me well beyond my comfort zone. I had done hard stuff before, but marathoning was by far the most challenging. And most rewarding mentally, emotionally, and spiritually.

In The Comfort Crisis, Michael Easter writes about his experience of doing something far more challenging than what I did: Thirty-three days on a caribou hunt on the northern Alaskan tundra. As you might imagine, his story entails all kinds of ordeals, all of which were new to Easter but not to his two weathered, hardened guides.  

Throughout his account, Easter correlates what he endured with aspects of ordinary life: e.g., loneliness, hunger, boredom. One that especially struck me was adversity.

Adversity is among the greatest teachers. Even though Easter at the outset wasn’t as hardened as his comrades, by the end of the trek, he was well on his way. And he regaled in it.  

Easter cites the work of University of Buffalo professor Mark Seery who hypothesized that while continuous, overwhelming adversity can be detrimental to the psyche, the opposite—being completely sheltered—isn’t ideal. Seery maintains an optimum state of wellbeing requires a certain amount of stress, including pushing ourselves outside and sometimes well beyond our comfort zone. That requires being comfortable with discomfort.

At a deeper level, Easter’s story can be read as an allegory, which Merriam-Webster defines as “the expression of truths or generalizations about human existence by means of symbolic figures and actions.” Accordingly, it has meaning even for those unable or not desiring to participate in extreme physical challenges.

Many can identify with Easter’s points because of how they experience them routinely. Among them are carefully rationing a food supply, coping with loneliness, and overcoming physical, mental, and emotional addictions. They’re widespread social phenomena.

 In his biophilia hypothesis, biologist E.O. Wilson postulates that since we evolved in nature, we have a subconscious desire to return to it. It explains why we keep indoor plants, aquariums, and terrariums in our homes, urban dwellers plant gardens on their balconies and rooftops, and communities maintain open space in the midst of developments. That back-to-nature urge conflicts, however, with our innate desire to make life more comfortable.

That proclivity is called “comfort creep.” Each time we bask in our comforts—think of the cooled and heated seats in your vehicle—we resist reverting to a previous level of comfort. Consider how many “rough it” by toting every creature comfort they can possibly pack in their RV when they venture forth into “the wild.”

The subtitle of The Comfort Crisis is Embrace Discomfort to Reclaim Your Wild, Happy, Healthy Self. To do that, one doesn’t need to plan an expedition to the Alaskan tundra or to Africa for a safari. Regular walks through a city park or alongside a creek can go far toward restoring a person’s sense of wildness.

Easter also cites the work of Dr. Marcus Elliot who works with professional athletes. Elliot spoke about how challenging activities caused a deepening within his psyche. Consequently, despite lessening the intensity of his regimen as he’s aged, he hasn’t lost his sense of adventure. I relate to that.

It’s not a stretch to aver that due to the inexorable progression of comfort creep, we’re growing physically softer and mentally and emotionally unhealthier. Once rare diseases and conditions like obesity, type 2 diabetes, and hypertension, have grown to epidemic proportions.

As we’ve become addicts—slaves—to the pleasures of life, our brains are becoming mush. Think of the habit of checking social media on cellphones and the camera in vehicles that aids when backing up. Individually, each might seem harmless, but collectively they’re further reminders about a lost way of life, one that kept us healthier and stronger on every level.

But that’s not all. It has implications beyond the personal, which I’ll explore next time.