I came across these three words “a comfort life” recently.
I wondered what it truly means to the person who said that. Not because I didn’t know what it meant, but how does it differ from what it means to me?
For some, comfort might mean financial freedom, a packed schedule, or pins on a world map. Or it might look like people living in big homes, yet spending their days apart with little interaction. The kind of social media profiles that appear full and beautiful on the outside (but hold little substance within).
For some, it’s simply returning to the same quiet beach each year, the one they love most. A small home where two people laugh often at their dining table. The strength to walk a kilometre for groceries and still return with a smile.
I once met an elderly woman at a petrol station who asked about our car. I told her it’s basic, reliable, and gets us where we need to go. She mentioned her hesitation over the colour she wanted. I said, “Any colour is good, as long as you like it. Honestly, we’re just lucky to have a car at all.”
Wealth consists not in having great possessions, but in having few wants.
— Epictetus
I meant it.
The car got us to work. It brought me to treatments when I needed. I see it as a support that helped us through a difficult time. To me, it’s not a symbol of status—let alone the comfort people mean by “a comfort life”.
A comfort life can be modest.
Good health. Peace of mind.
A roof over my head.
A safe environment to live in or work at.
People who are honest to tell me the truth, and genuinely happy for me.
It’s not a life without struggles.
But it’s one where I have the grace, strength, support, and space to move through difficulty. Where I can create what’s meaningful—not out of desire or ego, but out of care and sincerity.
Comfort doesn’t always look big. Sometimes it’s just enough.
whatever comfort means to you, I hope it includes health, peace, and truth.
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