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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.


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