Choosing Comfort, Choosing Me

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The older I get, the more I realize I value my comfort above… pretty much everything. Not in the bougie “cashmere blanket and matching silk pajama set” kind of way (though, let’s be real, I wouldn’t say no). I mean in the day-to-day survival kind of way. Comfort has become my baseline, my home base, my north star.

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I used to feel guilty about it, like prioritizing comfort meant I was lazy, weak, or avoiding the “hard” parts of life. I thought if I wasn’t grinding, pushing, or suffering for something, then it didn’t really count. But the truth is—comfort is survival. Comfort is stability. Comfort is what keeps me from shutting down completely.

And being autistic? Comfort isn’t just nice. It’s essential. My brain runs on systems. I see the world as steps stacked on steps stacked on steps. Every action has a flowchart.

Wake up → make coffee → feed the cat → check phone → breathe.

If there’s a way to cut steps, shorten paths, or automate something, you better believe I’m going to figure it out. That’s not laziness. That’s efficiency. That’s how I keep enough bandwidth left for the things that actually matter.

Think of it like this: every unnecessary step is a tax. A tax on my energy, my focus, my ability to function. And when you’re living in a body-brain combo that already feels taxed just for existing in this world, you learn to cut out as many extra fees as you can.

But here’s the nuance I’ve learned with age: sometimes the extra steps are worth it. Sometimes you have to play the long game. Sometimes the outcome is so important that you just accept it’ll take ten steps instead of two. And when that’s the case, I try to consciously choose it. That way, even if it’s draining, it doesn’t feel like someone else’s system is steamrolling me—I’m choosing my own priorities.

Day-to-day though? Oh, I’m ruthless about streamlining. Pre-setting the coffee machine the night before. Having go-to “uniform” outfits I can throw on without thinking. Automating bills. Keeping my yes small and my no loud. My apartment has tiny systems built into it like a video game speedrun. Everything in my kitchen is where it is for a reason. Everything in my workspace has a shortcut. My life is one giant “how do I make this two steps instead of five” puzzle, and I take a weird pride in solving it.

And here’s the kicker: I don’t see it as weakness anymore.

It’s strategy. It’s self-respect. It’s saying: “I know myself well enough to design a life around me instead of pretending I can bend myself around a life that wasn’t built with me in mind.”

Because here’s the truth: comfort is not laziness. Comfort is what makes it possible for me to actually show up. It’s how I make space for creativity, how I protect my relationships, how I keep my sanity intact in a world that constantly tries to wear me down.

So yeah—if there’s an easier way, I’ll take it. If there’s a softer path, I’ll walk it. And if there isn’t, I’ll grit my teeth and do the damn steps. But the difference now is I know when I’m choosing discomfort for the sake of a meaningful outcome—versus when I’m refusing to suffer just because that’s what the world expects.

Growing up taught me to chase productivity. Growing older has taught me to chase comfort. And honestly? That feels like the best system I’ve ever built.

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However you find your ease—whether it’s shaving off steps or surrendering to the longer path—you deserve a life that feels good to live in.”

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xoxo, MJ