Comfort Zones

Of course these are designed to be hacked through with a machete. Except at 60 you are starting to get a little resistant. I get up at 6.30, let the dogs out, make the coffee which has to be made in a Cafetiere or French Press, if you prefer the term, and then I watch the stock market channel. When the routine is busted, I feel a little out of sorts.

You are 60 not 90, you yell!

I know! But by the time you reach 60, you've usually been through many highs and lows. Your tolerance for more stress is waning. I do not need to bungee jump. I do not need to parachute out of a plane. I certainly don't need to attempt Everest!

I'm not talking about those kinds of comfort zones. Those are personal achievements; commendable, but not what I'm thinking.

I know I am belaboring the point, but playing a tennis match is a zone just out of cushyville. I have a pride in my tennis. What if I lose? I will be a lesser tennis player! But that is the point. Your tennis skills may not have been up to the moment, but your brain motored through. A loss can be a gain purely because you endured it and you got back out on the court with the heady knowledge that the same thing may well happen again! Do it! This is good for you!

But how about this for CZ dynamite; meeting 3 of your high school friends after 42 years! I defy any of you to deny this would cause a few palpitations. You were 18 in the full bloom of youth. Your skin was bursting with collagen. The possibilities for life glistened like a pirate's treasure. 42 years is a hell of a long time; it's a little shy of half a decade.

How do I deal with busted comfort zones when I am 60? Exactly the same way I did when I was 18; booze! And you know what? It worked perfectly, just the way it did 42 years ago except there were a lot more hormones circulating then and very little wisdom. The 60 year old wisdom prevailed right up to the last glass of delicious Italian red wine, which was the cup that clonked the night on the head.

I like to think it was at least midnight!