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Killing the comfort zone

I hate cold water.

I mean, I reeeeeaaaallllllllly hate cold water. Given the choice, I take no shower over a frigid shower or, even a lukewarm shower. There’s just something about arctic agua that drives me over the edge.

Hate it.

Hate it.

Hate it.

That said, I also hate living inside a comfort zone. That’s why I chose to skydive three years ago—because I’d long feared the idea of doing so. And that’s why, earlier this evening, I charged into the Atlantic Ocean, accompanied by two friends, when the sun had faded, the temperature had dropped, the wind was picking up and my wife asked, “Uh, why?”

Why? Because I can.

And if I can, I should. At least once.

So we ran to the water. Jill dove in. Greg dove it. I, well, didn’t. I ran, then stopped. Paused. Reconsidered. The wife yelled, “Don’t wimp out!” I didn’t. I threw my body beneath a wave. And—BAM! It hit me. The cold, yes. But, really, the euphoria. The rush. Eerily similar to skydiving, only colder. I loved it. Ate it up. Jumped back into the water. Came out. Then suggested, “Let’s do it again!” So we did—twice more.

I think I’ll always remember that feeling; that jolt of passion and euphoria.

To hell with hating cold water. I’m all in.

3 replies on “Killing the comfort zone”

you always have to live in the moment, and the cliche carpe diem – seize the day – you shouldn’t have to explain why you do things, just do them – life is for living afterall, and you need to enjoy it always

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