My Sesquipedalian

The World Is My Comfort Zone

“The sky is not my limit – it is my playground.” For spring break this year, I jumped out of a plane at 14,100 feet, making a 10 minute parachuted descent.

If I can do that, how small does perceived social awkwardness become?

Human interaction: the first unconquered frontier? I have never regretted a moment of social initiative and always regretted social cowardice, and I am considered one of the more open of my species. Humanity has always feared the unknown—the dark, outer space, and especially death—but how long must it enslave itself to insecurity?

After how many years of civilization, we still haven’t evolved beyond social illusions—namely, the illusion of the “comfort zone.” Paradoxically disillusioned by confidence, which is its very aim, the “comfort zone” dictates social engagement, instituting an imaginary hierarchical system of interaction, basically identifying those who have divested themselves from its grasp. Indeed, the very acknowledgement of its existence should be ample reason to dismiss its power, yet society continues to yield.
A self-imposed prison breached by self-determination, the entire concept is a model of insane futility. I therefore hereby deny this entity its power and publicly disillusion myself, declaring all as “comfortable” and viable for my interaction.

The world is MY comfort zone. Carpe diem, bitches.

Intensity In Flight