I have been feeling for some time now, dome-shaped glass pressing against my back. Something cool and constricting that has me twisting my spine to espouse its shape.
I am outgrowing my comfort zone. This place that started out as a getaway and then, piece by piece, turned into my whole world. This place where Time passes, but not really. This place where nothing ever grows.
Nothing, not even me. Certainly not me.
But every time I go out, I return more substantial. Greater than what I started out as. And each time, my comfort zone seems smaller. Each time, I have to tuck in my limbs and bow my head, careful not to spill over.
A comfort zone is safe. And we all need that. During years where life is not easy, it is the only place you can breathe. It is the only way you can live. It is the kind of place that is separated from the world, like a Christmas ornament hanging on a tree, overlooking the world, connected to it via a single thread . The kind of place with its own stratosphere, where you can redefine all the laws of the world and turn physics upside down. A place that could be everything you want it to be—and yet, a place that is often small. A space fit for one. A space you have to shrink yourself to fit into. Like you’re stuck in the closet between two worlds.
But my heart is growing bigger now. My brain bubbling with new ideas and wild concepts. Itinerant bits of poetry and pieces of people are finding home in that body now. I am catching onto threads of destiny, getting ever linked to the outside world. I am turning out to be too much for that small place. I cannot contain myself, not anymore.
One day, soon, I will spill. I will burst.
And I will find out that that spherical comfort zone was actually contained in a larger one. That, like the Earth, it is composed of layers. And one day, I will outgrow that one, too. And the next, and the next…