The Pursuit of Comfort

I went to see "The Secret Life of Walter Mitty" today. In a season of high quality and diverse Oscar contenders, this film, with all it's hype and promotion, fell a little flat at the box office and in popular consideration. But I was craving a celluloid fix - although of course it's all digital now - and I had enjoyed the scenery in the previews and I like Ben Stiller. 

The film opened at the discount theater this weekend, after just a few weeks of its release. Picking the early matinee to keep my afternoon free, I was the only one in the theater. Settling in, I prepared to be whisked away in a fictional world.

The film itself is no award winner, but some of the scenery is fabulous - Greenland, Iceland, the Himalayas - and Ben Stiller and co-star Kristin Wiig create characters that the audience roots for. The message of the film - that we should overcome our fears and adventure out into this huge, glorious, unpredictable world - is obvious and overstated, as is the grotesquely visible and drawn-out product placement for a well-known pizza chain, but the experience is overall pleasant and enjoyable. 

Films, however, like all literature, often surprise their audiences with unexpected emotions or themes, based on each member's need, level of personal evolution, or distinct worldview. And this one blind-sided me with a custom-made message, delivered with all the subtlety of a freight train: how is it that we've become a culture of individuals who seek comfort and ease above experiencing the entirety of this existence? 

Now I'm not above comfort-seeking with my cell-phone virtually attached for convenience, my well-furnished kitchen with a gadget for any possible contingency, my comfortable king-sized bed, my late-model CR-V, and too many other comforts and conveniences to mention. But I have, over the past few years, been weaning myself from this perceived need. 

Having once spent a year creating a 4000 square foot Victorian dream house with a room for almost every possible use and as many bathrooms as inhabitants, I now, after four moves, live in about 800 square feet. I remember declaring to my ex-husband, as my southern-raised-self weathered these unfamiliar frigid winters here in the upper Midwest, that I would set the thermostat wherever I needed to to stay comfortable, regardless of the cost to either our energy bill or my carbon footprint. Today, I turn the temperature to 60 when I leave the house and I never set it above 68, keeping a blanket and space heater close for use when my toes get cold. 

After years of declaring I'd only camp if I had access to a microwave and a toilet, when I travel now, I try to tent camp if the weather is warm enough, even though it's a lot of work to set up, take down, and organize a campsite night after night. Climbing up from a two-inch mattress covering the cold ground creates awareness of my not-so-young joints and muscles, and building a fire, preparing and cooking my meals before I can eat is more work than stopping at a fast-food restaurant, but I've grown to not only manage the added work involved but also to enjoy it. 

I choose to spend my leisure time hiking, climbing, and often carrying a 40-pound pack in steep terrain. These pleasures have nothing to do with pursuing comfort and have everything to do with pursuing the joy of existence. Although I've uttered profanities to myself while struggling up a seemingly unending incline, I wouldn't trade the pain and effort for a cushier pastime. And I don't only eschew comfort in my vacation time. 

I've modified my life in many ways, foregoing comfort for frugality until it's become part of my identity. I'm constantly looking for ways to economize more, both for my budget and for the good of the planet. Yes, it's inconvenient to wash out any recyclable containers I empty when I eat my packed lunch so I can carry them back home to put in the recycling. Yes, it's uncomfortable to weigh the gas I'll use to run an errand with the inconvenience of waiting and consolidating trips, but the rewards are high for this kind of conscious living. 

But conscious living is not the norm here in the heartland - or, I would posit, in the rest of our country. Our culture's never-ending quest for comfort, convenience, and ease has somehow led us down a dark and irresponsible existence. We pursue money - the means by which we purchase comfort - above all else, often at the cost of time for ourselves or with those we love. We make our educational decisions based on what will prepare us for a high-paying job, not on what will prepare us to do what we love more effectively or to make a difference in the world. We spend at least 40 hours a week chasing that good paycheck not only to sustain ourselves and our loved ones, but also so we can have the latest new gadget or style of shirt. 

And I wonder, what have we given up in this pursuit of comfort? I have discovered in the last few years that during the years I pursued a life of escalating ease, I often gave up living my life. I never knew the joy that a cold walk through the mountains, pushing myself physically and emotionally, could bring. I never knew the satisfaction of opening a utility bill and smiling at the money I saved by wearing a sweatshirt in the evening instead of a t-shirt. I never knew that making decisions based on what I wanted, not how comfortable I'd be, would free me up to live a life I never imagined. 

So for me, today, I try to notice where I, like Walter Mitty, am giving up living my life for comfort, ease, and avoiding some perceived risk. And I try to choose what will feed my soul, not what will make me the most comfortable. And that, as my friend Robert Frost says, has made all the difference.