Comfort and Deception

In her warm apartment she thought of going North. The weather was too kind here, too gentle. She was comfortable and happy, but she had no impetus, no reason to move forward. This fact, in itself, was enough to unsettle her. She had always told herself that she would never be satisfied; that there would always be something more to strive for and to seek. Once she had done, seen, learned and experienced everything, then she could die. Until then, her purpose was to keep on finding what she had not found before. What she had found now was a warm and blissful oasis that threatened to suck her in. She had never been so happy. The heat was nowhere near stifling, yet she found herself oppressed.

Why could she not be content? Why was this not enough? Were some people destined to move forever? Was this the plight of the nomad? She did not move for lack of food and shelter, but for lack of inspiration and for lack of…well…to put it bluntly, for lack of suffering. What would happen to the starving artist when he was fed? She wasn’t ready to answer this riddle just yet. First there was something more.

In her head she pictured swirling snow. She pictured a lake covered in ice. The life teeming underneath the surface sparked an interest, a curiosity. It was frozen in time in a sort of half-life for the winter months. When it awoke it would renew its constant search for food and its constant battle for survival.

She glanced across her living room to the goldfish circling its bowl. It smacked at the top of the bowl, begging to be fed. What if she decided not to respond? The fish would be helpless and defenseless against death. She held that power in her hand. In the grand scheme of the universe, the death of “Spot” would mean nothing, but in the minor scheme of Spot, it was everything. She wondered if Spot would even notice the difference.

She couldn’t help but giggle as she though of her daily trek through campus. At a low of 40 degrees Fahrenheit the population would be wailing about the cold. She was right there with them. She knew that Spot would make it more than a day without food, just as she knew that she would survive at temperatures below freezing. She was stuck swimming in her bowl though, helpless to adapt to the changing environment.

A biting wind, the sting of sleet, cold that doesn’t leave for hours after you come inside – that’s what she craved. It would entail suffering, yes, but it would yield the comfort found only in such a state.