I mistook comfort for belonging

It is very easy to stay in the place where you grew up.

Or the place where you went to college. Or the place where all your friends live.

It is easy because it is known. You know the streets. You know the shortcuts. You know which bar has the cheap drinks on Tuesdays. You have a “crew.” You have a dentist.

For a long time, I thought this ease was “Belonging.”

“I belong here,” I would say. “This is my home.”

But deep down, I didn’t feel like I belonged. I felt like I was stuck.

The Velvet Rut

There is a difference between being “rooted” and being “stuck.”

Roots are active. They dig deep to find water. They hold you upright in a storm.

Being stuck is passive. It is gravity holding you in a groove.

I was in what I call the “Velvet Rut.” My life was comfortable. It was soft. I had a good job. I had friends. I had a nice apartment.

But I wasn’t growing.

I was re-living the same year over and over again. The same conversations. The same parties. The same complaints about the weather.

I knew exactly what my life would look like in five years if I stayed. It would look exactly like today, just with slightly more grey hair.

That predictability, which used to feel like safety, started to feel like a coffin.

Comfort vs. Fit

I realized I was confusing “comfort” with “fit.”

Sweatpants are comfortable. But you wouldn’t wear them to a wedding. You wouldn’t wear them to run a marathon.

I was wearing sweatpants for my soul.

The city I lived in was “comfortable” because it demanded nothing of me. It didn’t challenge my worldview. It didn’t push me to be creative. It just let me exist.

But I didn’t want to just exist. I wanted to live.

I realized that “Belonging” isn’t about ease. Belonging is about resonance.

Belonging is being in a place that asks the right questions of you. A place that demands you become the person you want to be.

My comforting hometown was asking me: “Why change? Why not just have another beer?”

I needed a place that asked: “What are you making? Who are you becoming?”

The Pain of Leaving Comfort

Leaving a bad situation is easy. You run from the fire.

Leaving a good enough situation is agonizing.

I agonized for two years. “Why would I leave?” I asked myself. “I have it so good here.”

I felt guilty. I felt ungrateful.

But the discomfort grew. It was a pebble in my shoe. At first, you ignore it. Then it irritates you. Then it blisters. Then you can’t walk.

My soul was blistering.

The Jump

When I finally left, it wasn’t a triumphant leap. it was a terrified stumble.

I moved to a place where I knew no one. I didn’t verify the “shortcuts.” I didn’t have a dentist.

It was uncomfortable. It was hard. I was lonely (see Essay 02).

But for the first time in years, I was awake.

My brain had to turn on. I had to navigate. I had to meet people. I had to define who I was without the crutch of “I’m Dave’s friend” or “I went to State U.”

The discomfort was growing pains.

The Right Kind of Hard

Now, I am in a place that fits.

It isn’t “easy.” Life here is actually harder in some ways. The winter is colder. The convenience is lower.

But it is the right kind of hard.

It’s the hardness of a hike, not the hardness of a hangover. It’s a challenge that makes me stronger, not a weight that drags me down.

Don’t mistake the Velvet Rut for a foundation.

If you are comfortable, but you are bored… If you are safe, but you are asleep… If you know exactly what tomorrow looks like, and it makes you sigh…

Then you don’t belong there. You are just lingering there.

Get up. It’s time to be uncomfortable again. It’s time to wake up.