Comfort Zone

Comfort Zone

I was not prone to accidents as a young child. I was generally cautious, taking my time to observe my surroundings, the lay of the land, and the movements of others before taking action. I was shy and preferred a more quiet form of play. I used my dolls to act out the plots of my books, explored the woods and streams, and climbed rocks I imagined were mountains, picking my way carefully to the top. At school I preferred the swings. I could hang on tight to the chains while my feet pumped me to the blue sky, flying free, yet secure in the fact that my rump stayed glued firmly to the seat. It seemed solitary, and was, but the wind rushed by my ears, my hair blew back, and my mind wandered, jumping from one thought to another as the world melted away and time with it. I have seldom been as content as I used to be when I was on a swing – it was rhythmic and trance-inducing.

I was sometimes jealous of the other kids with their easy socialization and wild play, chasing each other while careening around corners with a shriek, hanging upside down on the monkey bars, and screaming down the slides with laughter. But my desire to join in was never enough to override my fear of not fitting in. Shy of others and fearing rejection, I suppose I just settled with what was safe and comfortable, and truthfully, I was happy with it.

I had a few close friends, and our friendships were long, but it took a great deal of time for me to warm up to others and be comfortable being me around them. I was an only child and an army brat, my dad having joined the army before I was two-years-old. In the four years that he was enlisted we moved seven times spanning various locations from Oklahoma to Germany. I was reserved and had great manners, and while I was used to meeting new adults, new babysitters, and general introductions to strangers, other children were a different creature. I didn’t meet many in my younger years, and the few I did meet were gone so...