Comforts come in many forms. Soft clothing, good food, my favorite Sunday mug, a clean home.
I am definitely a comfort seeker. I don’t exactly seek out expensive comforts or materialistic desires, although the above says I do gain a certain amount of peace from those items.
I’ve always been a person to want more of the less. Less plans out of the house and more backyard bonfires and good food. Less things to clean in the house so that I can have anyone over on a whim without the need for a pre-people deep clean and endless loads of laundry.
I’ve been reading books on minimalism that have inspired so many changes. The Year of Less by Cait Flanders inspired me to see how much I can do with less items. That there is a positive way to do without the extra choppy tool for mincing garlic, or the lemon juicer that seems to make less juice than my own hands. And that I am not missing anything when I choose saving for our dreams over lunch with the friend I am meeting up with by choosing to gather in my kitchen instead of a cafe.
Joshua Becker has many books on minimalism that stirred my heart into change. The book that forever changed my perspective was The More of Less: Finding the Life You Want Under Everything You Own . I greatly enjoyed the entire book, however it was the attention-grabbing story-telling introduction that got me. In this book, Joshua Becker begins with a day of cleaning the garage with his 5-year-old son. His son finds a hidden treasure of toys that had been tucked away and, of course, are now much more interesting than anything his dad could be doing. Becker then finds himself now having to tell his son that he can’t play, he has to finish the project at hand first. He shares a few words about the garage cleaning with his neighbor who casually mentions that her daughter is a minimalist and doesn’t have a need for so much stuff. And that was his push to evaluate if his belongings really brought true happiness.
That really hit home for me. Sure, it’s important to teach your children that the things you own need to be taken care of and cleaned. Yet I cannot stand when I have to devote the few days that my family is all home together to cleaning and finding a place for everything rather than just living and enjoying our home.
We recently hosted a small gathering for my husbands co-workers. Nearly all of them I hadn’t met yet. Now I am more of a relaxed military wife when it comes to ranks, events and such. I don’t really give a hoot if my house looks perfect or if it impresses the spouses. I really just aim to make a home that people feel safe in and will leave with a full belly.
That being said, my husband and I still spent 3 nights and the whole morning and afternoon prior to the party cleaning up toys, papers, clutter, trash, recycling, dishes, laundry, blankets covered in dog fur, wiping walls with little dirty fingerprints down, even more dishes, baking and making sides. I had started with a back pain and ended the week with a limp. I’d literally worked myself down to get to that level of cleanliness where I felt that guests would be comfortable with the food and atmosphere.
For me, I loved the way the home felt. We sat down watching our favorite TV show with a candle lit in the autumn decor on the table. I think I even had some tea. It was ridiculously comfortable. And, in all honesty, it hadn’t taken that long to do what I was too overwhelmed to handle for the last few weeks and months. Why did getting comfortable feel so difficult?
Jill Winger has touched on a few topics of consuming less and cultivating more (click here for a podcast about changing consumer culture) And even brought on the author of a book I’ve recommended more than my favorite childhood series (it’s Inkheart, in case you’re curious). In her podcast episode with author Micheal Easter, he and Jill speak on the negative affect that having creature comforts has on the current population. Being comfortable and never having to work through discomfort or natural stressors is not always a good thing. We as humans are designed to adapt and overcome to our environments. I don’t mean being someone whose spent their life in the heat of the Arizonan dessert should suddenly live in the frigid temperatures of Alaska with nothing more than a woodstove and good intentions. But rather, if you’re in Arizona, letting yourself be uncomfortable in the hot climate you’ve chosen to live in. As an Alaskan myself, I don’t turn the heat up to allow for me to wear shorts and tank tops in the house just so I can have to change to take the dogs out or go to the store. But rather, my house is a little cooler, my sweaters are just that much warmer. I adapt to the seasonal changes to allow myself the small challenges that come with living in a cooler climate.
Now that we are stationed in the UK, I am VERY uncomfortable. The heat is insufferable, nothing like the humid southern states I’ve lived in, its itense and the homes here are built to hold in heat, not keep it out. There is no air conditioning except for the expensive and sad unit we bought. I’m pretty sure we killed it this last summer. And the bugs are out of this world. We have sprayed for spiders the last two autumn seasons in my home. When you can’t open your window without a Noble Widow or English Spider waltzing across your head, well it’s too just not okay.
I had to really assess the person who I thought I was this last summer. All winter I’d listen to the podcasts I mentioned above and even finished the book Comfort Crisis in the spring when it was still awfully cold and relatively bug-free. Once that summer heat hit, man I was miserable. There’s not a lot that brings me joy here, but that heat made me sicker than I could imagine. I considered being tested for disorders of the body that prevented me from regulating heat properly. I had a few scary moments where I was too dizzy or weak to stand after managing dinner in my kitchen. I was in a discomfort crisis of my own and I couldn’t understand why I wasn’t tough. Why wasn’t I bouncing back after 15months since I had my second child? Why was everything a miserable experience.
Well, I was uncomfortable. I wasn’t in my element, I was so far out of it that I had lost touch with what type of person I am. I love the cold. I love big, hot, sparky bonfires in the snow with the northern lights and stars above me. I love cooking over flames and coals with hot flames warming me. And I love the feeling you get with the soup is simmering and you get to wrap up in a blanket and watch the snow fall.
I also love trudging through the deep snow in negative weather. My lowest record was a 19 minute walk in -15 degrees Fahrenheit. It was amazing. It was frosty. It was uncomfortable.
My frosty self following my -15 degree walk in Alaska.
I’m not saying that everyone belongs in the cold. But I’m also saying that it’s quite an amazing feeling to brave the frost covered landscape in negative temperatures. The blankets, coffee and slippers are just that much warmer.
I guess my revelation for you, along with my encouragement, is to accept that you will be uncomfortable in life, and that’s normal. Embrace it. However, don’t dismiss the comforts like they are a sin to have. We aren’t call to be miserable souls, discontent with the life we have. It’s normal and healthy to seek better. Seeking solutions to systems that don’t work, making sure those windows are sealed to keep you, your babies and family warm, making sure you have clothing that fits the elements outside so you get the life-giving fresh air you need, and even a favorite mug that breathes peace into that tea, coffee, cider, hot water and lemon. These things aren’t required for a good life, but they breathe joy, peace, love or comfort into your every day.
So choose less, of what doesn’t work or serve your or make your life better. Instead, save the favorite mugs, make the favorite foods, take your favorite walks. Invite me along! I love a good journey.
Just know that if it’s hot, we will need icepacks.