I’ve learned how dangerous feeling comfortable can be.
I found a niche, and I clicked myself into place. I belonged there; I knew it. I was doing what I have known all my life I was meant to do, and I settled in. I could handle this. I could thrive, and I did thrive. My writing got better. I buried myself into researching and composing and editing.
I had a brief period when I thought that maybe I should leave. Maybe I was ready to move on. No, I thought, This feels good. This feels safe.
Being comfortable and relaxed blinded me to what was going on. I didn’t notice whispers, rumors, and groups gathering. I thought I couldn’t be touched. I was wrong.
Becuase I stayed too long, they knew what else I could do. They knew I was capable of the monotonous tasks I’d done before. I could do repetitive, and I was good at that too. So the comfort was taken away from me.
Now I choke and smother on the trite. I scour for ways to release the creativity. I gag on New Age business dogma as they try to force it down my throat. I abhor the thought of making their bottom line soar. I make no difference anymore.
I have stayed too long.