Comfort is my enemy.
I don’t mean luxury. I refer to being used to something or being able to do it without much effort.
The lack of fear or a cliff to fall off of… less challenge… It makes me restless. I do my best work when I am not sure what the hell is going to happen or if I can even do it in the first place.
I am an accomplishment junkie. I’ve said it before. And it’s still true. In fact, the harder the thing I just finished conquering is…. the further I fall into boredom after it has been vanquished.
The thing is… this time… that comfort is still quite a feat. It’s not exactly easy. I still have to put forth effort. And it’s of a calibre I haven’t enjoyed in years. I want to keep it around and maintain it while I pursue whatever will make my blood burn next.