My Love Letter to Comfort
Written and Photographed By Harley Frechette
Graphics by Web Designer, Dina Kuanysheva
For the longest time, I thought that the definition of “comfort” was the living room in my childhood home. It had all the characteristics of comfort that I consider classic — a fireplace, a deep couch, and photographs of the people I loved most. Don’t get me wrong; the room was comfortable. But I know now that it isn’t the only definition of comfort.
As I have entered adulthood, lived in new places, and said goodbye to the people who made me feel at home when I was younger, my understanding of comfort has changed. Places can certainly be comfortable, but not all comfort derives from a place. Rather, comfort is a feeling of safety, contentment, and gratitude — and it can be found in many different places, things, or people.
There are places that just exist in an indisputably comfortable state. Nothing needs to be added or changed; they simply make you feel at peace. And naturally there are places that exist in an unwavering zone of discomfort, like the dentist’s office. But, after realizing that my comfort level does not just have to be determined by my physical location or scenario, some of the most “uncomfortable” moments of my life have become somewhat comfortable.
Take camping, for example. If you choose to spend the weekend in the wilderness with a tent and a box of matches, you will almost certainly be physically uncomfortable. But if you bring a sleeping bag, pajamas, your favorite foods, substantial gear, and instant coffee, you are likely to experience the purest state of comfort you’ve ever been in.
Unfortunately, you cannot set up camp in a dentist's office and create a physically comfortable oasis in the same way. Instead, we have to resort to the things that bring us comfort on the go. Regardless of your physical location, the pages of a book can transport you across the world. They can bring you to the happiest of times, the most peaceful of locations, and to the kindest of people. The right book can supply endless opportunities for mental comfort.
The same is true with a good plate of food. Picture yourself in a dark, warm restaurant that is filled with the scent of the many dishes coming out of the kitchen. That, right there, is comfort. Food can momentarily bring us to places we’ve left and return us to people we miss dearly, sparking memories and feelings of comfort. Food can soothe, heal, and ignite, which is why we refer to so many dishes as “comfort food”.
Atmospheric comfort aside, I notice that on the days I prioritize my individual comfort — physical, emotional, and mental — I am confident, prepared, and driven; they are my best days. I feel most comfortable when I am wearing a pair of chunky hoops and an oversized sweater, my hair in a slicked-back bun. It is in these clothes that I feel most like myself, and I tackle my day head-on, without hesitation.
Despite my normal definition of a comfortable outfit, some days I find that I am more comfortable in a dress and heels. I choose to run with whatever is calling to me each day. If you are uncomfortable in what you’re wearing, how can you expect to easily find comfort throughout the day?
For a while, I used to distance myself from all methods of comfort in an attempt to get out of my comfort zone. I believed that this would lead me to be strong and independent, but I now realize how wrong I was. Trying new things and going new places does not always mean discomfort is necessary. I still seek adventure and change; it feeds me. But I now seek that lifestyle with an appreciation for comfort. Contrary to what I once thought, an adventurous and fulfilling life can be comfortable. Things that make you feel at home and loved do not have to be abandoned for spontaneity.
I hope I live a life without constraints and with adventure. But I hope that throughout it all, I am comfortable. And I know that if I find myself lost, I can make my way back to comfort with a lavender candle, a plate of carbonara, my dad’s cable-knit sweaters, or a chapter from Harry Potter.
I used to think comfort was a place or a thing. But I now know that comfort can be anything — a person, a meal, a smell, a feeling, and so much more. As I write this love letter to comfort, sitting on a bench in Central Park while listening to a violinist and watching kids play, I feel that sense of safety, contentment, and gratitude I now know to be comfort. And I know that tonight when I take myself on a solo date for a plate of pasta with a good book, I won’t be lonely or wish I had someone across from me because I have found comfort in occasional solitude.
At one point, I would’ve thought that breaking away, trying something new, and ditching the norm would mean leaving behind all comfort from my home.
