Outside The Box

Sawdust and sweat, and muscles swimming in lactic acid. Gravity gets into everything, and at midday even the rays of the sun feel heavy.

These were my thoughts during the spring project that finally broke the ice of winter inertia. For farmers, carpenters, and others who make their living defying gravity, this is just the daily grind. But for me, it was a chance to stretch my comfort zone again — to get ready for the season now upon us, when that old joke about “it’s not the heat; it’s the humidity” stops being funny.

The human comfort zone is both physical and psychological. The physical part is the easiest to reshape. Once, after returning from a winter expedition, I found the house too warm and the bed too soft. For weeks afterward I slept on the floor without a blanket, my feet pointed toward a small wall heater.

Just fifty miles and a slight change in elevation can catapult us into a whole new physical comfort zone. In early spring, when I visit Chicken City in a T‑shirt, I always see people dressed like they’re prepping for an Arctic expedition. Come summer, I’m astounded these same folks can survive in a climate that feels like life on Venus.

Traffic is another comfort zone that shifts with surprising ease. I sometimes complain about how long it takes to traverse our one road through town and navigate the unpredictable hazards presented by martinis and medication. (“Is he waiting to pull out or is he parked there? No, I think he’s going to… WATCH OUT!”) One trip to Atlanta, however, and I’m back home muttering, “Traffic? What traffic?”

Our mental and emotional comfort zones are trickier. They’re stubborn, tangled up with peer pressure and group loyalties. Challenging them creates cognitive dissonance — a major driver of political conflict. The discomfort can be so intense that mere words, if they disrupt that zone, can spark violence in those with poor impulse control, especially in generations accustomed to instant gratification.

Look deeper and you see how comfort zones shape the political divide. People often grow more conservative as they age. Experience may grant wisdom — more information, better decisions — but age also stiffens our comfort zones just like it stiffens our backs and knees. Generally speaking, younger people want to push boundaries; older ones want to defend them.

Of course there are exceptions, but these tendencies push and pull within every civilization. Unless human nature changes drastically, we can expect the same dynamic in the future. The challenge today is that the clash of comfort zones isn’t organic. It’s encouraged. At the extremes we find those who, from their discomfort, want to burn down the house because any change is good — and those who resist all change out of fear.

Yet the turnings of civilization are much like the weather. Next week I’ll be miserably mowing my jungle in rainforest humidity, but in time I’ll be bundling up by the fire. I’ve got AC for the Venusian weather and firewood for the winter. The nation has its time‑tested institutions and its checks and balances — if we don’t burn them down in the rage of our discomfort. The trick is remembering that discomfort isn’t a crisis. Burning the house down is.