In my mind it looks like this but with more books, a tricked out computer set up, a really comfy couch, king sized bed, and a chef’s kitchen complete with a chef:
My Soul, however, sees my comfort zone like this:
I’ve ventured outside of my CZ…
(interesting, the initials also stand for cubic zarconia – a type of FAKE diamond. Hmmm, could my comfort zone also be masquerading as something it’s not?)
…on numerous occasions. But not for very long and I always seem to find my way back. I suppose though that if I used it to recharge and then ventured out again quickly, my Soul would come to see it more as a place of peace and rest, rather than where we go to die. My soul can be quite the drama queen I think.
Oh but She does have somewhat of a point. My comfort zone is indeed where many of my dreams, desires, goals, and quite a few commitments have ended up taking their last breaths. So I suppose having this in the back yard of the comfort zone
might indeed make one hesitant to enjoy their time there.
All this talk of comfort zones was spawned by my taking a pretty big trip outside of mine last night. I set up a Go Fund Me campaign soliciting donations to pay for my attending Marie Forleo’s B-School this year. I’ve wanted to go for three years now but each year, the money to pay for it just wasn’t there.
I’m wildly uncomfortable asking for money. Even when it comes time to sell my books, I’m great with telling people they’re available but hide when it comes time to talk price. My work isn’t expensive. I did a lot of research into pricing when I first started out and placed my books pretty much in the middle. I still make back what it costs me to produce and end up with a decent profit. Granted, I need to sell more books consistently to make a living, but who doesn’t?
Anyway, the Go Fund Me deal took me so far outside my comfort zone it was two hours before I found my way back. Which of course means I’m a little shy of my usual six hours of fitful sleep. This post has taken me outside my comfort zone but not too far; I buried (no pun intended) the one little bit that makes me uncomfortable in the middle of all these extraneous words and images.
sigh The silly thing is, I love to travel, so why are these trips so hard to take?