There’s a well-known thing that happens to caged animals. Keep one confined long enough and it stops testing the door. Open the door and the animal stays put, because the boundary is no longer in the cage. It’s moved. I read about that, thought it was sad, and then looked at my own life.
Thirty-three years working in corporate. In all that time I never seriously went looking for something better. Never went back to school. Never really reached for anything past the edge of what I already had.
I was comfortable. That was my box, and I sat in it for over three decades and called it a career.
Why is comfort the hardest wall to see?
Because nothing about it feels like a limit.
A fear of public speaking announces itself. You feel it in your chest and you know exactly what you’re avoiding. Comfort doesn’t do that. It feels like sound judgment. Why would I leave a decent job for something uncertain. Why would I go back to school at this age. Why would I take a risk when things are fine.
Every one of those questions has a reasonable answer available. That’s the problem. The reasoning is never obviously wrong on any given day. It’s only wrong in aggregate, across thirty-three years, and by then the series of decisions has become a life.
The sign isn’t unhappiness. I wasn’t miserable. The sign is that I couldn’t remember the last time I’d tested anything.
How do you notice you are in a comfort zone?
By seeing the pattern somewhere else first. That’s usually how this works.
Once I understood the shape of it, I started seeing everybody else’s. The same outline, over and over, in life after life. People standing next to a door they’d stopped trying, entirely convinced the reason was practical.
Recognizing it in other people is easy and slightly smug. The uncomfortable part is that the pattern you spot fastest in others is nearly always the one you’re running yourself. I could see it in them because I had thirty-three years of practice at it.
What was the first wall out of a career comfort zone?
A job I lost because of one. That’s where the book starts.
The uncomfortable part is that the pattern you spot fastest in others is nearly always the one you’re running yourself.
I won’t relitigate it here beyond the shape: there was a thing I wouldn’t do, and somebody who would do it got the position. That was a wall behaving as walls behave, determining an outcome without ever presenting itself as a choice. What made it useful was that it was specific enough to see. Most walls aren’t. Most of them cost you things you never learn about, because the opportunity simply goes elsewhere and nobody tells you.
Are all comfort zones the same?
No, and I got lucky in which boxes I had to deal with. I’ve never had to fight quitting smoking, because I never smoked. Or drinking, because I never drank. Or gambling, because I never gambled. I’m not going to stand here and lecture people fighting battles I never had to fight.
If a real addiction is part of your box, that deserves the kind of help built for it, and a book about comfort zones isn’t that. What I can write about is the variety I know from the inside, the wall made of nothing but never having tried.
What does testing the door look like?
Smaller than people expect, and the size is the point.
The mistake is treating this as a dramatic decision. Quit the job, move country, start the business. Those are enormous tests with enormous consequences. That means you won’t run them. That means the wall holds.
A real test is small enough that failing costs almost nothing.
Apply for the thing you wouldn’t get. Say yes to the invitation you’d normally decline. Ask the question you assume the answer to. The purpose is data about whether the boundary is still there, and most of these haven’t been checked in a decade.
What surprised me, once I started, was how often the answer was that the door had been open for years and nobody had mentioned it.
My take
Comfort is the wall you won’t see, so go test the door. Keep the tests small enough that failing costs nothing. Apply for the thing you assume you wouldn’t get, accept the invitation you’d normally decline, and ask the question you think you know the answer to. Most of those boundaries haven’t been checked in a decade. I spent thirty-three years in corporate without testing mine, so I know how convincing the practical excuse feels.
How do you tell if you are too comfortable in your career?
Ask when you last risked failing. If it’s years, that’s the finding.
Distinguish the wall from the reason. A reason you’ve never tested isn’t a reason, it’s a conclusion you reached once.
A reason you’ve never tested isn’t a reason, it’s a conclusion you reached once.Share on X
Test small. Big tests don’t get run, and an untested wall stays up.
Notice the pattern in other people, then look for it in yourself. The one you spot fastest is usually yours.
Don’t confuse this with the serious ones. If your box is an addiction, get the help built for it. This is about the walls made of habit.
| Check | What to do | What it tells you |
|---|---|---|
| Last risked failing | Ask when you last risked failing | If it’s years, that’s the finding |
| Wall or reason | Ask whether you’ve ever tested the reason | An untested reason is a conclusion you reached once |
| Test size | Test small: apply, say yes, ask the question | Big tests don’t get run, so the wall holds |
| Other people | Spot the pattern in others, then look in yourself | The one you spot fastest is usually yours |
| Serious cases | If your box is an addiction, get help built for it | This check is for walls made of habit |
I left corporate eventually, and everything I’ve done since has been outside the box I spent three decades in. That’s not a triumphant ending, because thirty-three years is a long time to spend not checking, and I’d like some of it back.
The book on this: Don’t Live in Fear is 22 chapters on the walls people stop testing, written after I lost a job to one and then spent three decades not noticing the others.
Comfort is a wall like any other. Don’t Live in Fear is about the walls you built and how to get past them, starting with a job I lost to one of mine.
Frequently Asked Questions
- Learned helplessness, Encyclopaedia Britannica
