Edited by Malavika Kishore
A False Sense of Comfort- I find it everywhere. It feels sane and surreal in the moment—like that last “closure” conversation I didn’t really need, or telling myself that, after attending classes from 10 to 6, I deserve to rot in bed for three hours straight. But what actually is comfort? Is it familiarity—the touch of a hand, the scent of a place, the voice of someone who feels like home? Or is it like the glow of a candle, calming and warm, but always at risk of flickering out just when you start to relax?
I think comfort reeks of guilt. Is it my imposter syndrome kicking in? I know my body needs rest, a break, but I keep pushing until I hit my limit—and that’s not even where I stop. Every time a song plays, I have to sing it the loudest. Every time there’s a test, I have to be first. First to finish, first to raise my hand, first to get the answer. Who am I trying to show my worth to? I tell myself it’s the world, but deep down, I think the answer is me. But why do I have to prove myself to myself? I know I’m made of atoms and molecules, of firing neurons and sparkling synapses. I know I’m made of unconditional love, compassion, and kindness. I don’t mean to sound like a narcissist, but I think I’m a pretty decent human being—maybe even a good one. So why this constant drive to be more, to be better, to do better? It feels like I’m always racing against a version of myself that doesn’t exist.
I feel like I’m constantly trapped in a cycle where, in order to feel comfort and at ease, I have to tick off all the boxes on my fancy checklist. Wake up and practice mindfulness. Get up, look in the mirror, and recite, “I look beautiful, I am happy, I am grateful” three times. Bonus points if you smile when you say it, so your brain gets conditioned to believe it’s true. Get dressed, get to the gym before the sun rises, because why not kick-start the day by conquering my body before I even open my eyes? Come back, look pretty, and get to work ten minutes before I’m supposed to, because I need to prove that I’m capable of excellence before the day even begins. Buy coffee for your colleagues on the way. Smile at the doorman and greet the receptionist just because you feel sorry when people avoid their presence. Clock in 9 to 5. Stay overtime to help my coworker, who should have submitted the work a week ago, because apparently, everyone else’s deadlines are my responsibility. And then, head home, with a deep satisfaction from the day’s accomplishments—and I don’t even really know what those are. But I try to comfort myself by thinking I’ve earned a reward.
Head home and buy yourself that extra spicy ramen with a side of Diet Coke because you like to feel different sensations all at once. It somehow makes you feel alive. It’s exhilarating, and you’re probably trying to substitute the thrill you’d get if you had ever taken that day off and gone to the theme park with your friends, but you wanted to save it just in case you actually fell sick. Go home, clean the cat litter, and watch your cat plead for food, then subtly go back to ignoring your existence. Sit down on the couch, watch trash TV that somehow makes you feel better about your life because you earn your bread and butter by actually making an impact in others’ lives—at least that’s what your sister tells you. FaceTime your family living more than a thousand miles away, tell them about your day, and let them know you’re happy, healthy, and alive (this is a game of two truths and a lie, pick your answer).The truth is, I’m exhausted, overwhelmed, and desperately trying to make sense of everything I’m doing. But I don’t say that, because who wants to hear about the cracks behind the facade? The cracks that I keep patching up, trying to make everything look perfect, like the life of someone who has it all together.
Dodge two phone calls because you’re afraid of confrontation. I tell myself I’m too busy, that I have too much going on to deal with it. I can’t afford the emotional energy. But in reality, I’m just avoiding the discomfort. Avoiding anything that might disturb the false sense of peace I’ve carefully constructed. Contemplate whether you should eat that bar of Toblerone, then carry on that process for about 12 minutes before you give in and tell yourself, “You only live once,” so you don’t necessarily need to be a size 0 Victoria’s Secret model to feel content in life. Quick flashback to the conversation you had with a stranger at that café about three months ago, where he enlightened you with the perception: “You only die once, you live every day.” Cut back to reality, remembering that you need to buy cat food or Lucy’s going to throw a fit and scratch all the furniture. Stroll downstairs for a walk because Instagram told you 10,000 steps a day means you’re part of the top 1%. Walk and breathe deeply because social media is screaming “Embrace the fresh air!” but your fingers freeze so hard you can barely open the app to post about it. Watch people being people—maybe holding hands or buying ice cream—and ponder deep, philosophical stuff. Talk to yourself and remember to stop by the grocery store, just because. Wander through aisles aimlessly, reading the list of ingredients on a new vegan shampoo in the market that has a cute bottle but definitely isn’t worth 12 dollars.
Okay, now time to run back home because you’re four minutes behind that schedule embedded in your consciousness. Good. Made it close to time—we can let it slip this time. Put on a pair of fresh clothes, slather yourself in pumpkin spice-flavored body lotion, and prepare for another round of self-care that I’m supposed to be grateful for. Put on a YouTube video where someone tells me to repeat everything I’m grateful for while slathering hydrochloric acid, niacinamide, and salicylic acid on my face. Repeat the steps. Again. Brush, comb, floss. Again. Smile at the mirror, and repeat, “I look beautiful, I am happy, I am grateful,” three times. Bonus points if you smile when you say it so your brain gets conditioned to believe it.
Now, force your cat to cuddle with you and always have a book next to you. Not fiction, we don’t entertain enemies-to-lovers here (we really should). Some self-help book that reaches out to you with propaganda like “Conquer, Crush, Repeat”—the only self-help book you’ll ever need to ascend to the throne of the hyper-optimized. Inside, you’ll find life-changing tips like “How to Become a Morning Person (Even If Your Soul Rejects the Concept)” and “Manifesting Millions by Overloading Your Vision Board!” Warning: Side effects may include spontaneous bursts of motivational quotes, alienation from loved ones, and an inexplicable urge to post #RiseAndGrind selfies at 4 a.m. after reading up to four pages, even though you promised yourself you’d read at least ten.
Hit the lights. Put on the subliminals and take a photo of Lucy next to you before bed. That’s the most important step. Oh, and darling, don’t forget to worry about killing the flame of the candle, only to later realize it burnt out a while ago—definitely not before you did. Go catch your beauty sleep. You have a whole day ahead of you. Rest and repeat.