A New York Comfort

There are two kinds of weddings. One is the traditional storybook wedding. In other words, the one every woman wants from birth. In other, other words the one my mother cries at every time it’s on TV. Then there are the New York firefighter weddings.

The two are extremely different. And I found myself in the middle of one over the weekend.

They have the same ideas and feelings but the guests are extremely different. Firefighters, well the ones I’ve seen, are nasty, crude, a little mean but extremely funny. They are the ones that know how to have a good time but are the first ones to help in any given situation.

There was one in particular, he told me his real name but I soon forgot it. I guess it didn’t matter much since everyone called him by a nickname. I told him I was a writer. He exclaimed, what I guess was excitement; I don’t think he’s ever met a writer in person. He told me, right before he left for the bar, “Nobody likes a coward.”

As we drove away from the reception, my eyes looking at the buildings painted with graffiti, I got to thinking about comfort. Comfort zones, foods and places. I’m not sure why. Maybe because it was twelve, maybe because I had a few drink’s.

Few= 1.

Does it make us a coward if we leave a comfort zone? What happens when we do? Do we become braver, smarter or better?

We all have a comfort, even though many us do not make it public. We all leave a comfort behind, sooner or later. And we gain comforts sooner or later. But are our comforts the things that describe us?

My comfort food is cake, especially Crumb Cake. My comfort place is sitting at home, my dog sleeping on my lap. My zone is whenever I sit down and write, when I actually find the chance to do it. These comforts describe me to a tee.

A firefighter is comforted when helping people. It doesn’t help that said fireman above was the only one helping people to their car in pouring rain.

It also didn’t help that I wasn’t giving up my seat to help people.