Three years ago, I stumbled over the crest of Longs Peak, my hands numb from the cold rocks. I’d been up since 3 AM, so as soon as I reached the 14,259-foot summit, rather than enjoying the view right away, I laid my head on a rock and fell asleep.
I was awakened when a marmot stole a banana out of the side pocket of my backpack and scurried away to eat it with his little hands as he stared at me from a safe distance.
My brother and friends had summitted while I was napping, so we laid out some snacks and enjoyed the view while the sun came out and warmed us.
This was the third time I’d summitted Longs Peak. It never gets old.
Chosen discomfort=long-term happiness
The environments we live in in the modern world are comfortable to an absurd degree. We can stay in perfectly temperature-controlled bubbles all day, eating food that someone chauferred to us, entertained by devices that bring the history of the world’s media to the palms of our hands and onto the walls of our homes.
As nice as this is, overexposure to comfort is turning us (mentally and physically) into the whimpering puddles of goo that we saw in Wall-E. Mental disorders and autoimmune conditions have skyrocketed.
If comfort was going to make us happy, it would have worked by now. But it doesn’t. Our minds and bodies hate it.
Our bodies and minds also contain the tools we need to fix ourselves.
“Humans don’t mind hardship, in fact they thrive on it; what they mind is not feeling necessary. Modern society has perfected the art of making people not feel necessary. It’s time for that to end.”
― Sebastian Junger
Two days ago I ran a 10k in the rain
We were under a flash flood warning in Glenwood Springs. It had been raining all day. The highway that runs through the canyon east of Glenwood Springs was closed, on account of a mudslide that had buried large portions of the highway under a flow 70 feet wide and 6–10 feet deep.
I threw on a bathing suit and tank-top, grabbed my water-resistant headphones, and laced up my running shoes, heading out into the storm with a smile on my face. I spent the next hour slipping in the mud, splashing in puddles with both feet, and crossing over various bridges on the scenic route to look at the swollen river.
It was alternatingly fun and terrible. My shoes got soaked and started squelching, my feet got cold, and eventually, my phone shut itself off, cutting out my music for the last kilometer. But you’d better believe that when I arrived at my gym (the endpoint of my run), the gratitude I felt was explosive.
Comfort only matters to the degree that you appreciate it. If you’re comfortable all the time, comfort becomes regular and routine. But if you routinely choose to uncomfortable, then the return to a comfortable environment can remind you how great life in the modern world is.
Discomfort breeds resilience
We belong in nature. Not only does regularly spending time outside make you happier, but it also means you will live a more fulfilling life.
I was lucky enough to grow up in Colorado, where this is an understood and accepted fact. There’s a concept in the outdoor community that one of my friends introduced me to called “The three types of fun.”
Type 1 fun is just fun. This could be climbing on a sunny day, tossing a frisbee around, or surfing.
Type 2 fun is miserable while it’s happening, but fun in retrospect. Climbing Longs Peak is always type 2 fun. It’s cold, you’re hiking before dark, you’re depleted of nutrients, and there’s the risk of falling to your death in the homestretch. The views make it worth it, but then you have to descend. The way down is painful, with your knees getting sorer and sorer with each jarring step. But when you and your friends stumble into a restaurant after you’ve made it down safely? It’s the best feeling in the world. You’ve been bonded together in adversity, accomplished something, and come out the other side to eat pancakes.
Type 3 fun is just miserable. This is when you look back and think “why would I ever try something that dumb?” There’s a possibility for type 3 fun to become type 2 fun with the benefit of hindsight and nostalgia, but this is rare.
Type 2 fun is the spice of life
My brother and I do a lot of controlled cold exposure, which belongs firmly in the “type 2 fun” camp. Jumping into a cold river that’s fed by snowmelt sucks. It never gets any easier, and there’s no way to make it fun in the moment. But the endorphin rush that you get when you exit the river is a spiritual high.
Cold exposure is the ultimate act of chosen discomfort. You have to stand there and lower yourself into a frigid river, choosing to exit your cozy world and freeze for a few minutes. The benefits are insane.
Controlled cold exposure is great for your immune system, and also breeds resistance to temperature stress. This means that your body will not only fight off infections quicker but will do so with far less energy expenditure.
In other words, it makes you antifragile. You embrace uncertainty and discomfort because you know they will make you stronger. In a world full of fragile people, this is what we need. To fight for your happiness in this modern dystopia of miserable people is an act of strength.
Don’t let anyone tell you differently.
Start choosing discomfort
Run to the gym, don’t drive. It’s raining? Great! You’ll build up your immune system.
Walk to the bar, don’t take an uber. It’s cold? fantastic! See how long you can walk without putting on a jacket.
Bike to work. Spend time in the sauna. Walk to the grocery store with a backpack and carry your load home on the hilly scenic route.
For God’s sake, push yourself. Strength is available to those who earn it.
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