The Art of Discomfort

The time is 6:30am, my eyes are full of sleep and I’m dying for a triple espresso.

It’s been a week since I flew back from Edinburgh to my hometown in Wales and I already miss the struggle that living away from home provides.

I initially planned to travel home for several weeks for a number of reasons: visit the family, spend time with friends, tell the bailiffs to f*ck off. You know, the usual stuff. But for each day that I spend at home is another day where I feel like I'm slipping back into a life of comfort. If you’ve been reading my writings over the last few years, you’ll know that the old me, the corrupt version of myself, enjoyed the bathing in endless comforts. But as far as the new me goes, well, not so much.

For the last 5-months, I’ve been living in a hostel in Edinburgh. It's cool, it's quirky and it's clean, but as you can imagine, lodging in a hostel doesn’t always provide the most ideal conditions for me to focus on my writing. The beds are springy and people snore, which means I have many restless nights of sleep. Space is limited, therefore, I end up tripping over other people's stuff all of the time. And as far as my privacy goes, well, let’s just say that I can't even have a wank without someone else watching me.

Despite the lack of perks that living in a hostel provides, there is a highway of great benefits available to me in Edinburgh which are a short walk away from the hostel door. For example, I could either work from the bunk of my bed and risk getting disturbed by two drunk Australian girls at 11am or I could make my way to a quirky independent coffee shop to write in peace. Whilst mingling with two Australian girls would be fun, I doubt that much work would get done.

I’m currently sat in my bed with a nice cup of coffee as I write this article. I’m warm, I'm cosy, and I'm as content as a chipmunk on Christmas day. There are no parties going around me, no pub crawls about to start, no beer glasses smashing onto the floor, nor are there any people around to throw me off my game. No temptations. No distractions. It’s just me, myself and my disturbingly high sex-drive.

It would be easy for me to continue basking in the pleasantries of what living at home provides. Free food, consistent heating, lifts from here to there to everywhere else, a spacious bedroom and a soft bed to sleep, all the while not having any rent or bills to worry about. Stress-free living. Ah, "the good life." All of these creature comforts are available to me right now, free of charge. All it would take is a swift act of disloyalty towards my values and disciplines and Edinburgh would become something of a distant memory. Thanks home, but no thanks!

Many people go about their lives living in their own little bubble of comfort, never allowing themselves to feel even the slightest degree of discomfort. They disallow themselves to feel the cold, therefore, they never truly appreciate the warmth. They never go longer than a few hours without food, therefore, they never truly appreciate what it feels like to eat a meal. You get the point.

Putting yourself in an uncomfortable position that forces you to adapt is healthy, staying in the same place and remaining stagnant is death.

Call me crazy, but I enjoy the struggle.

Moral of the story: I’ve just booked my flight back to Edinburgh.

Thanks for reading.

- Chris