Getting comfortable with discomfort

Comfort zones are happy places. The clue’s in the name, right? It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out why we love them so much. They’re almost Utopian, anxiety-free, stress-less. An environment in which you can chill, be yourself, feel free. A space of mental security.

In my own comfort zone, it’s not often that I make decisions for myself. I sit on the fence, more than satisfied and enjoying the view. But as a friend once said to me, “sitting on the fence is all well and good, but after a while your bum starts to hurt.”

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Pet hate.

I appreciate this is not the most pressing of issues, but it’s something I need to get off my chest.

I have, in the last few years, dramatically overused the expression “pavement hoggers” amidst the odd rant, referring to people who simply can’t be arsed to move and let me walk past them on my way to work.

Pavement hoggers usually shuffle around in packs, often in the form of homeward bound, post-school run Mums (they love a dawdle) – that, or giggling teenage collectives linked so tightly arm-in-arm that any suggestion of tearing them apart would be fucking OUTRAGEOUS.

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The small things which make me happy

BUPA recently conducted a survey to see what makes people feel happiest, and it turns out it’s the little things, or perhaps usual banalities, which keep us most satisfied.  The simple pleasure of sleeping in a freshly made bed, feeling the sun on your face, watching a sunset or the smell of a fine wine.

I enjoy a glass of white as much as the next person, but cutting through the abundance of clichés had me reaching for a bucket.  4% actually said “thinking about the royal family” gave them that warm fuzzy feeling.  And who the hell gave “watching your breath float away in cold air” as their first answer?

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Versatile Blogger Award

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I’ve been nominated for the Versatile Blogger Award by Sam, creator of the very cool Book Beat Blog (highly recommended read).

Here’s how it works…

Rules:

  • Thank the person who gave you this award — of course.
  • Include a link to their blog. They deserve to have some credits too.
  • Next, select 15 blogs/bloggers that you’ve recently discovered or follow regularly.
  • Nominate those 15 bloggers for the Versatile Blogger Award — you might include a link to this
  • Finally, tell the person who nominated you 7 things about yourself.

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Why studying English is NOT a soft option

I’ve always been a fan of English, me.  It’s my kind of subject.  It requires me to use my brain in a particular way, a way with which I am familiar and comfortable.  I love books. I love writing.  I love words.

Numbers – personally?  Not a fan.  I’ve never had a scientific brain nor do I believe I ever will have.  My Maths skills are and always have been appalling, despite receiving extra tuition when I was at school.  And it was only with the help of my best friend that I even scraped through GCSE Science.

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My kick-ass manifesto

A while ago, a couple of my favourite online bloggers published their own manifestos and since then I’ve been mulling over what I’d include in my own.

Manifestos are important, and they aren’t exclusively associated with politics.  They might sound a little scary and formal but by definition, a manifesto is simply a public verbal declaration of all the shit you believe in – “your motives, incentives and beliefs.”  ‘To manifest’ is ‘to make real’.

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A social media mini-break

I tried boycotting social media for a few days this week.  Why?  Because, and I don’t mean to sound dramatic, it’s eating up my life.

It’s the first thing I look at when I wake up in the morning, and the last thing I check before going to sleep.  The last time I went to Ireland, I actually racked up a whopping £75 phone bill from checking my social media accounts through data roaming charges, despite being warned against it.  That’s BAD, right?

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Happy Mother’s Day, Mum! You will probably hate this.

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To my dear Mother,

I know better than anyone that gushy, soppy statements are not your thing. You’re from Middlesbrough and it comes with the territory, so I’m told. (Joke).

But since it’s almost Mother’s Day, and you’re actually rather bloody great, I thought you deserved just a little bit of thanks for all the lovely, generous things you have done for me these past 22 years. Not too much though, because, you know, sentiment is for losers.

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