It’s been six years now since I turned goblin, to use the slang term for abandoning convention and embracing your inner slob. And I have loved it.

In fact, I’m writing this while sprawled on my unmade bed, wearing a hand-me-down T-shirt and track-pants. I haven’t  bothered to put my contact lenses in.

I am not looking even mildly professional, competent, or grown up.

I feel the most fully me that I have ever felt, even though I probably am the least human I have ever looked.

So it’s probably not a surprise that I recoil at the suggestion of going back to an office full time, with all the packed lunches, uncomfortable shoes, and early starts this would imply.

“I just want to be comfortable,” I said one day. There was nothing about this office scenario that sounded comfortable.

Instead, it sounded exhausting to pretend to be an adult all day.

But there was something about my body’s reaction that stayed with me, gnawed at me.

Should comfort really be my highest goal?

Even the most basic organisms will respond to negative stimuli, or discomfort. In fact, neurobiologists use this as a test for life.

Does the cell move away when it is pricked, and does it flinch when poisons are injected into its petri dish solution? That’s discomfort.

Did you know that a roundworm only has 302 neurons and yet it will exhibit this reflex?

When the organism learns to avoid areas that are uncomfortable, perhaps because it’s hotter or colder than it would like, that’s a test for sentient life, and a sign that the organism may be capable of suffering.

This dance between comfort and discomfort is fundamental to our being. Seeking comfort or avoiding discomfort is our most basic choice.

But if you only ever choose comfort, you never develop resilience.

We can only grow when we face discomfort. That is the gift and opportunity that comes with being human.

I remember a meditation workshop with the late, great Buddhist teacher, Louis van Loon.

He talked about “sitting practice” — sitting cross legged on the floor, attempting mindfulness for half an hour or more — as being about developing your own courage.

Since that workshop, my life has changed fundamentally.

I moved provinces, changed careers, became a parent, and embraced remote working. I was figuring out a whole lot of stuff on the fly.

Yet somewhere along the way, maybe because my mental capacity was already feeling maxed out, I had stopped leaning into that micro-buzz of discomfort that comes with showing up in a professional setting.

When I’m navigating the big discomforts, like uncertainty around my career and finances, I can still choose the small comforts of everyday treats, watching TV, or staying in bed.

That makes sense, right? Those small comforts help me get through the big discomforts.

Actually, maybe sometimes those small comforts are making it a bit harder for me to show up in the areas I want to.

I realised recently that the small choices I’d been making to prioritise my comfort sometimes made it harder for me to achieve my goals.

I’ve been avoiding the spotlight, which means my work is less visible and my network is smaller.

I haven’t felt the discomfort that comes with being the first to contact a colleague or potential client, or suiting up for a work day that isn’t crammed into a corner of my messy lounge.

I wish I could say that I’ve realised my error and mended my ways. I am a person who is really good at realising my error. I am not so good at mending my ways.

I think it’s time I started learning to be human again.