Comfort, confessions, apologies, and gratitude

One is of questionable value, at least to some extent. The others are essential, good for the soul.

Back in August I wrote a post entitled “What are the odds?” It was about assessing risk, cheering for underdogs, and trying anyway, even when success seems unlikely.

This week, against all odds, a person in California won nearly two billion dollars in the Powerball Lottery. The person has yet to be identified. Back in November, another California man scored a similar jackpot. We do know his name, as well as a little about how he has been managing his new-found wealth. Apparently, the winner chose the all-cash option instead of setting up decades of payments, which gives him less money over the long haul, but netted him an immediate tidy sum of $628 million. Within a few months of his payout, he had purchased two homes and a vintage Porsche, spending a cool $31 million between the three purchases. A few months later, he added another home, this one with a price tag of $47 million. Anybody who knows anything about sudden windfalls of money is cringing at his choices. The big spenders generally don’t fare well. The stories of lottery tragedies are rampant. Read some here. And a few more here.

When I read these stories, I cringe, too. First, I don’t even play the lottery, so there’s that. Second, I can’t imagine spending that kind of money so flippantly. Most of us, I would hope, wouldn’t be so frivolous. In fact, most people I know, I think, would shake their heads and say, “I don’t need all THAT. I just want enough to be comfortable.” Then they would find wise and generous ways to save, invest, and share the rest.

What is enough though? I suppose there are many different levels of “comfortable.”

Obviously, my husband and I are at the opposite end of the spectrum from this gentleman in California. Far from wanting three homes worth $75 million, we want no homes at all—not even a fixed address. We are doing our darndest to get rid of all our belongings, not tie ourselves down with more.

Even before we set out to become full-time nomads, though, I was a pretty cheap date, easily amused and impressed. I have often told my husband, “Don’t ever try to leave me. You will be hard-pressed to find another woman who would be willing to live this crazy, chaotic life we lead.” What is comfortable for me wouldn’t likely be comfortable for most, but the concept is the same, even if the monetary value is different. People—at least most people—like to be comfortable. (That Wim Hof guy doesn’t count. He’s just freaking crazy, in my not-so-humble opinion.)

But is comfort the end goal? Should it be? What does comfort do for us? To us?

Behavioral scientists would argue that a life of comfort is not necessarily good for us. Managing a certain amount of stress on a regular basis is actually healthy for our brains. Too much comfort leaves us with no problems to solve, no adjustments to make. Without these things, our brains go soft, leading to decline.

Many people, Americans especially, would counter that a comfortable life, free from want and worry, is a major component of the American Dream, the so-called good life. Our American Declaration of Independence, after all, says we are endowed by our Creator certain inalienable rights, among them life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. Many would extrapolate comfort as the practical extension of happiness.

Now, you know I am a Christian, and I do read the Bible. I have searched the Bible for years—decades, even—for the part about our Creator giving us the inalienable right to pursue our own happiness. In fact, even the right to life and freedom are kind of pushing it, biblically, if you ask me. From my own reading, it seems that whoever wishes to protect and save his life will lose it. The last shall be first. The least of these, and all that. Jesus said that His followers should deny themselves, take up their cross (a key component in the first century Roman Empire execution method d’jour), and follow Him.

Look it up for yourself. You can click the screenshot above or click here to go to a search engine and type in any of the phrases I’ve listed here.

I hate to break it to you, friends, but taking up one’s own cross to follow Jesus to where HE was headed when HE was carrying a cross is probably not going to end in a comfy chair with just the right combination of pillows and blankets and a steaming cuppa next to a stack of books in front of a cozy fire with a view of the water out a streak-free window. Perhaps that lovely scene will play out occasionally in your life—and I hope it does, at least once—but Jesus never set down the pursuit of comfort as our end goal. And He certainly never told us it was our God-given right. At least not from what I have found in the Good Book.

What I see is stuff like: In this world you will have trouble. I wish you were either hot or cold. (Look those up in the search engine above, too.) None of that sounds very comfortable.

But I suppose that’s none of my business.

Is the pursuit of comfort the same as the pursuit of happiness? Maybe. Maybe not. Are we entitled to either one, just because our nation’s sacred founding documents say God declared it to be so? Maybe. Probably not.

And yet, I am not one to get on my high horse about the topic of comfort, either. I don’t even have a horse. And if I did, it would currently be in need of a new home.

But if I did have a high horse, I would hope it looks something like this. What a magnificent animal, amiright?

We also are pursuing a life of comfort, just a different style than yours, perhaps. Despite my frequent visits from that midlife practical joker, Uncle Peter the Heater, I am prone to running on the chilly side. I don’t like being cold, so I have invested in (mostly second hand) layers of Merino wool and fleece clothing and even a wearable puffy blanket/poncho-esque thing (it has snaps!) for sitting outside. Our expedition vehicle will be equipped with both a diesel heater and a mini-split A/C unit for the tropical zones, and plenty of windows to gaze at the ever-changing scenery. We hired a talented seamstress to make our dinette cushions from a buttery soft fabric stretched over high-quality foam. In the cab, we replaced the original flat and hard bench seats with individual comfy suspension seats, each with side bolsters and adjustable lumbar support. We were gifted a hammock-chair thingamabob and are super excited to use it. No, we are not averse to comfort.

But I don’t want to have every detail of our trip planned out (as if that were possible), with campground reservations and full hook-ups, meals at trusted chain restaurants, activities and excursions arranged ahead of time with only the most reputable tour operators. For us, this style of travel sounds miserable.

On the contrary, we tend to thrive on spontaneity and a healthy dose of the unknown. We like feeling a little overwhelmed with options and uncertainty of which to choose. Our marriage works most smoothly when we have to put our heads together to solve actual problems and work side by side to do hard things. After fifty-something years alive and thirty-something years together, we know ourselves well enough to realize we need a little stress to feel fully alive. A life of comfort at every turn does not appeal to us at all. (This should make for some interesting stories here, once we finally hit the road.)

As I wrote about back in July, my goal is to be comfortable being uncomfortable. So where does that leave me? Am I pursuing a life of comfort or not? I don’t know. I’m probably just confused. Carry on as you were.

But wait. Before you go . . .

Speaking of being uncomfortable, I have a confession to make. For real.

It’s a problem many writers struggle with, so I am not alone in this, but still, I feel responsible for admitting it . . . and offering an apology. Read on.

Here’s the dealio: you know the conundrum of the work world, that you can’t get hired for the next level job without experience, and you can’t get experience without someone being willing to hire you? Yeah. It’s kind of like that for writers, too.

Especially in recent years, as publishing houses are floundering, and finances are tight all around, publishers—for the most part—aren’t willing to publish a book unless the author has built a significant platform. In the writing world, this means a base of faithful followers that can somehow be measured—via social media, an email newsletter list, speaking engagements, history of prior book sales, etc. Publishing a book, after all, is an expensive project. They can’t be risking big dollars on a publishing project if they don’t think hordes of people will line up to buy the book. For many writers and would-be writers, then, likes and follows and shares equal hope for a traditional publishing contract.

My confession is this: I bought into this mentality. I have been blasting my voice online, begging for attention and engagement. It’s not been pretty. I know it is a fear-based behavior, and I have despised myself for engaging in it. Quite honestly, it makes me a little sick to my stomach every time I find myself begging like that.

The truth is, I like to write. I tend to process my thoughts via writing, so I do write. I can’t not write. Therefore, I am a writer. An author is a writer with publishing credits. I have a few of those—short pieces, non-fiction. So, technically, I am an author, too. But I have a big, fat, juicy novel that I want to publish soon. I have other books spinning in my head for later. Thus, I must clamor for your attention.

Right?

Wrong.

I apologize for my bad behavior. It has been short-sighted and ugly, and has made us all feel uncomfortable. I am determined to stop begging for attention and just do what I love to do, which is write from the heart. If anything formal and official and in-print ever comes of it, great. Really great. But if I just write to help me process the world I encounter, whether fiction or non, that is ok. Really. It’s ok. If you like what you read and want to keep reading, awesome. If you don’t, I will keep writing anyway.

For those of you faithful readers who have encouraged me over the years, I am truly grateful. You have inspired me to keep going. Some of you have subscribed to this little bloggy-Substack-newslettery thing. Thank you. I see your email addresses and I recognize some of them as people I know personally. Each week, I would like to start including little notes of gratitude to a few of you.

Today I will start with these three: a Peg and two Cindys.

I met Peg Willis in a coaching session taught by Matt Mikalatos (who has a great new book that just came out, btw) at a writer’s conference several years back. She and I hit it off right away—similar sense of humor and worldview. Since that time, we have stayed in touch, mostly online with occasional in-person visits, which are always delightful. She is one of those rare people who knows how to encourage and cheer and support in the form of reliably snarky, silly comments, but also would be down for a serious conversation on any topic. ANY topic. Over the years I have known her, my husband (she has adopted him, too) and I have often said, “Everybody needs a Peg.” It’s true. If everyone had a Peg in their lives, this world would be a happier, healthier, funnier, more reasonable, more sane and supportive place. Thanks, Peg.

In that same vein is Cindy Hannan. I have known Cindy since I was an outspoken junior high kid (shocking, I know), and she was a young mom, the wife of the assistant pastor at Bethany Church in Long Beach, California—a place neither of us have lived since the early 1990s. I admired her then but didn’t start getting to know her well until Andy and I moved up to Vancouver, Washington and began attending New Heights Church, where her husband pastored. She had started a support group for young moms back in Long Beach and continued with another one in Vancouver. As she stepped out of leadership of that New Heights group, I became a young mom myself and stepped in. Cindy was an amazing resource for us, but beyond teaching us how to organize leadership teams and be a good M.C. or speaker, she also let us see her heart. You know those rare people who radiate warmth and joy and love, and seem to draw you into their orbit without even trying? Yeah. That’s Cindy. Now that neither of us have been young moms for many years, and I haven’t lived in Vancouver since 2004, Cindy and I rarely see each other in person. But I know I can count on her as an honest, compassionate friend for life. I have learned more from her than she will ever know, and I am a better person for knowing her. Thanks, Cindy-One.

Finally, I am grateful for a new friend, Cindy Doll. When I started taking writing seriously again, just a year ago or so, I began looking for some sort of writers’ critique group I could join. I don’t live in an urban area, and there weren’t many options. When a stranger posted on Facebook that she was starting (or rather re-starting) a group, I jumped at the chance, unsure of who or what I might find. On the second or third week, Cindy showed up. I was so grateful to find someone closer to my own age and era—the rest were quite young—and she also liked serious historical fiction—the rest wrote fantasy or cozy mysteries. We clicked immediately and began to encourage each other in our writing, both inside and outside of the group meetings. The group disbanded over this past summer, but Cindy has stayed faithful. She and I have led very different lives; we don’t share things like parenting or marriage, or even faith. But we enjoy each other’s company (that is, I THINK it is mutual, haha!) and we push each other to constantly improve our craft, cheering on the little victories and helping brainstorm when one of us gets stuck. I hope we can continue to support each other for many years to come. Thanks, Cindy-Two.

Back to the original topic: I’d love to hear your thoughts on the concept of comfort. I may have ruffled a few feathers with what I said earlier. I tend to do that sometimes. I’d love to continue the conversation in the comments, even if you disagree on some points. Disagreement does not have to be ugly. And no, that is not just me being needy again, begging for feedback. I really do value your insight and contributions to the discussion, friends. Promise.

Until next week,

Sherry