My Nanna lived in the comfort zone.

Taking a seat at her kitchen table was like sliding into a deck chair. A simple bit of furniture, it was where she played cards, drank wine and conquered crossword puzzles.

But most of all it was where she created an environment of ease.

What I remember most from sitting at that table were the faces gathered around it. Different ages, different personalities, but all comfortable, for the moment at least, in the space they found themselves in.

Have you had the pleasure of such a place, where you find yourself sinking into a state that seems almost disconnected from your real life?

At the centre of it, no doubt, was a force like my Nanna, for a true comfort zone is not the place you go alone, but the space in which another accepts you unconditionally.

The Skin You’re In

Putting others at ease is not something we are encouraged to do.

In a world of competition and self-promotion, where sitting at tables is becoming rare and the focus on self is all-encompassing, few people see the need for creating a comfort zone for others.

Keeping people on their toes tends to occupy our time. With enemies kept in pockets and friends tucked away in mobiles, the idea of making others comfortable seems unattractively pedestrian.

Where’s the excitement of the game-play, the rush of the repartee?

Striving higher and harder and faster, the emphasis is often on the opposite of comfort.

Shake things up.

Challenge yourself.

Go out on a limb.

Push yourself to the limit.

See what you are made of.

For many, change signifies progress and to be still is to stagnate.

Perhaps one of the downsides of our commitment to continuous improvement is that if we live by the premise that everyone can and should improve, how can we also convey the message that we accept people just as they are?

Just the Way You Are

A traditional woman, my Nanna never learned to drive.

She had old-fashioned views on most things, and was politically conservative and cautious with money.

But her strong opinions never erected a barrier between herself and another at her table. In fact, her circle of friends consisted of vastly different people.

I often wondered what they had in common, these people who came and went through her kitchen. What I remember most is the noise: laughter and yelling, waving hands crafting enormous tales of love and luck.

My mum finally put it into words.

It was my Nanna’s gift, the ability to invite people in and share a comfortable space with them.

Perhaps it is important to our development and evolution that we forever try to outgrow our skin, but I still miss those days around her hectic kitchen table, comfortable for a while in a space of easy acceptance.