I think that comfort has very little to do with what one might think.
It doesn’t need softness,
or a big space,
Sometimes it goes hand in hand with familiarity, but
that is not always necessarily so.
Even if it’s a first –
you can find comfort there, if it’s the right thing.
Oh sure, it may be about repetition, but not always.
A smell, a sound, a rhythm, a task.
Pulling a paddle through water,
the zip of your sleeping bag in a tiny tent,
the click of needles coaxing yarn,
the stretch of your calves in downward dog,
the strike of your stride hitting the path,
the flick of the wrist as you peel potatoes –
there is comfort there.
The carve of the skis,
the push of the pedals,
the turn of the key,
the strum of the chord,
the roar of the surf –
it is there, too.
The arc of the seven-iron,
the ache in garden knees,
the creak of the stairs,
the cradle of your hands around a mug…
Extravagance is not there,
nor is opulence.
Comfort is merely an exhale
of the essence of you.
who you are –