Zone of Comfort

It's a beautiful night in Kansas City ... pleasant temperatures, no wind, clear blue sky ... the perfect night for a walk with one certain little wiener dog named Oliver. When I got home from work, I knew if I wanted to get out and walk, I would have to try to eat something or my blood sugar could drop and I might end up kissing the asphalt rather than walking on it. The only problem was absolutely nothing even remotely appealed to me ... and I do mean nothing. I finally opted for a glass of almond milk with a couple of scoops of protein powder and some sugar-free chocolate syrup, and then I hustled Ollie out the door for our walk. He was in full-blown social butterfly mode this evening, and we hadn't been on the trail for more than five minutes when I realized that our normal walking time was probably going to double because Mr. Oliver felt as though it was necessary for him to greet every single person we passed. We would kind of hit our pace, and then my wiener dog would spy someone coming toward us and stop dead in his tracks, tail wagging like crazy, tugging on his leash, whining like a baby and begging to go say hello. And if the other person happened to have a dog ... forget about it. I don't even know how many times I picked Ollie up and carried him past both people and dogs this evening.

It was as we were finally making our way home that I was able to get Ollie to walk at a normal pace with me, and as we did, I quickly got into my "zone." It's when I'm in my walking zone that I do my best thinking, by the way ... there's something about the fresh air, the music playing in my ears and the methodical nature of my steps that causes my brain to kick into overdrive in the thinking and pondering department. As I watched Ollie's cute little wiener dog wiggle as he walked in front of me, my mind flew back to the days when I went for walks alone after J.R. passed away. I well remember those lonely walks ... not only did I miss my little dog terribly, I discovered right away that I didn't know how to walk on the trail without him. You see, I didn't go for walks until J.R. came along so my pace and my movement were in conjunction with his. I didn't know what to do with my hands because they were used to holding his leash ... I didn't know where to step because my feet always walked next to his ... I didn't know who to talk to because I always chatted with him. And though I walked alone for several months before Ollie came to live with me and Julie, I couldn't ever quite find my walking zone again ... and for as much as I love Ollie and enjoy walking with him, there are times like this evening when I realize that I had a very unique comfort zone when I walked with J.R. I also realized something else this evening, too ... Ollie has made me find a new zone of comfort when we walk together, and I think that could be a really good thing.

On three different occasions this week, people have said or written something to me about my comfort zone ... not my comfort zone when I walk, mind you, but my comfort zone in life. One person said, "You need to get out and meet people, make some new friends, step out of your comfort zone." Another said, "It's good for you to step out of your comfort zone from time to time." And yet another wrote, "I'll always push you outside of your comfort zone." Those of you who've been reading with me for a while know where this is going ... when that kind of thing happens, different people delivering the same message to me, when that happens, there's a lesson I'm supposed to learn and a truth I'm supposed to take to heart. Here's the thing ... there's a reason it's called a comfort zone, you know. It's called that because it's the place where I feel ... well ... comfortable and safe and protected. But my comfort zone is also often the place where I can hide, where I don't have to face reality, where I don't have to overcome challenges, where I can simply exist.

I think perhaps there's a bigger lesson in my reluctance to be outside of my zone of comfort than I realize or understand ... way, way, way bigger, friends. A lesson and a truth that needs more thinking, more pondering, more soul-searching. Something tells me I may need to take a walk to contemplate this one ... maybe I need to take a step or two outside my zone of comfort ... maybe I do indeed.