Comfort Creep and My 60th Lap…
In my last couple of posts about The Comfort Crisis by Michael Easter, I talked about prevalence-induced concept change—the idea that when problems become rare, we start redefining smaller and smaller things as problems.
Closely related to that idea is another one Easter talks about: comfort creep.
Comfort creep is simple.
Once we experience a certain level of comfort, it quietly becomes the new normal.
Then we start optimizing for even more comfort.
Not because we need it.
Just because it’s available.
Air conditioning becomes climate control.
Driving somewhere means driving to the closest possible parking spot.
Waiting two days for a package becomes an unbearable delay if it isn’t delivered tomorrow.
Comfort keeps creeping upward, and our tolerance for inconvenience creeps downward.
And before long, we find ourselves complaining about things that would have seemed like science fiction luxuries a few generations ago.
The Goal: Whine Less
One thing I’ve been thinking about as I approach another lap around the sun is this:
I’d like to complain less.
Not because there aren’t real problems in the world. There are.
But because I’m increasingly aware of how often I’m complaining about things that are really just minor inconveniences.
Slow internet.
A line somewhere.
A minor plan change.
None of these is actually a problem.
They’re just moments where my expectations of comfort were slightly interrupted.
That’s comfort creep talking.
Saturday Morning Reminder
I had a small reminder of this on Saturday.
A co-worker mentioned the day before that they were speaking on a panel about Veterans in the Arts at a local college. It sounded interesting, so I went.
And it was.
Not only was the panel interesting, but I also met a few people beforehand who had incredible stories—people who had served, people who had turned their experiences into music or writing or art, people doing genuinely fascinating things with their lives.
The whole evening made me realize something.
There are amazing things happening everywhere.
Talks.
Lectures.
Art shows.
Music.
Game communities.
Sports events.
Museums.
People doing creative, interesting, meaningful things.
And most of us miss them.
Not because we can’t find them.
Because we’re sitting on the couch looking at our phones.
Coincidentally, my best friend texted me he was on a party bus to celebrate St. Patrick’s Day in some small Wisconsin town. He was doing it. Out there, meeting people, having fun. More of that!
The Doom Scroll Trap
The internet has an amazing ability to make the world seem terrible and boring at the same time.
Scroll through your feed, and it looks like the entire world consists of:
- bots
- partisan rage
- people arguing
- people selling something
- people complaining about other people
That environment keeps us glued to our phones.
Which is convenient for a wide range of interests—advertisers, platforms, political operatives, and anyone who benefits from attention and outrage.
But while we’re staring at that little glowing rectangle, we’re missing something much more interesting:
the real world.
The one where people are building things, creating things, telling stories, and doing genuinely interesting work.
My “60th Lap” Plan
So one of my small goals as I head toward my 60th lap around the sun is this:
Be aware of comfort creep.
Recognize when I’m defining problems down..
And most importantly:
Spend more time doing things than scrolling about things.
This isn’t going to be a strict “less screen time” rule.
Instead, it’s going to be something more positive.
Go out and see things.
Attend things I know nothing about.
Random lectures.
Museum exhibits.
Local music.
Art scenes.
Game scenes.
Sports.
Panels.
Community events.
Whatever.
There’s an incredible amount of interesting stuff happening in the world.
It just requires one uncomfortable step:
leaving the house.
The Antidote to Comfort Creep
Comfort creep tells us to stay where things are easiest.
The couch is comfortable.
The phone is comfortable.
The algorithm serves up things we already agree with.
But the real antidote might be something simple:
Get out.
Go somewhere unfamiliar.
Talk to people.
Listen to someone’s story.
See something you didn’t expect.
Comfort might creep.
But curiosity can creep too.
And I’m hoping to let that one creep a little more this year.