How often do we find ourselves reaching outside our comfort zone knowing, full well, that we will be stung? We are hedonistic. It is the way that the fabric of our beings has been knit. There is no getting around it.
Time spent doing things in leisure all seem to distract. A funny sitcom, silly pop love songs, scrabble boards, a predictable novel that you “just can’t put down”.
These are nothing more than blankets.
They cover and protect us. They warm us. They make us feel secure. They make us delight in the present as we created it, not the true present that made us seek those metaphorical blankets in the first place.
Franz Kafka said: “we ought to read only books that bite and sting us.”
But why stop with just what we read?
Why not go out, emphatically, in all that we do, looking to be stung by something?
Why suppress the emotions that accompany a sting?
Why not be uncomfortable?
A sting is not equitable to pain. Pain is a broken leg or (even worse) a broken heart. A sting is a minor discomfort. That distinction ought to be made more clear.
It is when we take a step back, cradling the newly inflamed welt on our hands, hearts, minds, dreams, goals, relationships, careers, likes, dislikes, and souls that true change can occur. Because like healing, it does occur.
So seek to be stung, child.
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “That Stings!.”