Humans develop personal comfort zones from the onset of interaction with each other. It begins at that first group play date. Two- and three-year-olds either find their freedom to socialize, or they stand in the corner with their blankets waiting for the embrace of their mothers’ arms.
By adulthood, our comfort zones define us. We cling to familiarity – the likes and interests and warm blankets of life. We think we know what we’re all about and the doors leading to the edge of the envelopes we live in slowly close.
What a shame because, clearly, an adventure to the edge from time to time gives us opportunity to taste life and all of its uncertainties. The horizon may be beautiful to view from the balcony, however, the beauty intensifies only if you choose to run towards it.
My windows and doors remain ajar. Save from jumping from an airplane or engaging in an activity that begs for death to arrive sooner than he should, everything is fair game, even if I don’t wear that tattoo boldly on my forearm. So while it seems uncharacteristic for me to meet a dozen strangers for the first time at a bar in Minneapolis, then join them on the dance floor for hours of hip-hop and ’80s disco, when I get that chance, I take it. At the end of the night, the goodbyes are heartfelt and life is bigger, brighter and filled with new friends and new stories the next morning.
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