“Hey Siri,” my son said loudly towards our HomePod in the kitchen, “What’s the weather today?”

Our home has these large windows that let a lot of light into our main living space. A second before, I had watched him walk into our living room, noticing the brightness and the warmth of the room.

I motioned for my son to look around his surroundings, and determine the weather based on what he can see and feel. “Yeah, but I can also just ask Siri.” He replied. 

I was struck by that interaction with my son. It made me wonder what the rest of our daily habits look like to the eyes of my observant children.

Our home is scattered with technology to make our days easier: blinds on automatic timers, lights with motion sensors, and several voice-activated devices. But while many of these gadgets are helpful for a busy household, I wondered if these “efficiencies” – these small comforts – are creating a culture of complacency in our family. Instead of encouraging childlike curiosity to run outside and feel the warmth of the sun against his cheeks, my son opted to holler towards a machine in another room. Where could he have learned to rely on Siri like that? Sigh. Guilty, as charged. 

Before you break up with Siri and turn off all automatic conveniences in your home, I need to point out that the culprit isn’t technology or the pursuit for comfort. The question I asked myself is this: What are the areas of my life where I have started to coast? Have I modeled a tendency towards mediocrity instead of curiosity, and if so, am I okay with that?

Let me paint a picture of what our family evenings look like. 

At the end of a busy work day, my husband arrives home and walks right into our busy dinner rush. I’m finishing up in the kitchen, and I’m hollering orders out to anyone within earshot: “Please set the table! Serve the drinks! Wash your hands!” My husband and I go through the same, almost scripted, exchange: “How was your day?” “It was good. Crazy busy.” Instead of leaning in and inquiring for more, it's easy to leave it at that – most days are similar, anyway. It’s easier to focus on correcting table manners than to actually sink into our seats, engaging in meaningful conversations with one another. After dinner, it’s a mad rush for quick clean up, bedtime routines and prep for the next school day. By the time my husband and I are ready for bed, it’s late at night, our brains and bodies are tired, so we opt to veg out with a show before falling asleep. 

Perhaps our household sounds a little like yours. With various schedules to manage, bills to pay, and burdens to bear, it is so easy to slip into the rat race of every day.

Is a slow, peaceful dinner truly that out of reach?

Why does it feel so counterproductive to actually engage in meaningful conversations, allowing stories to unfold in front of us? I would much rather hear about how my husband engaged in critical work conversations to repair relationships than merely be told about “a busy day full of meetings”. I want to know how my young sons dealt with conflict at the school playground. I want to know the words they used, the feelings they felt. I want to be curious. Instead, I’m rushing through our meal because we only have 20 more minutes before bedtime and we still have so much to do.

It reminds me of one of my favourite C.S. Lewis quotes: 

“It would seem that Our Lord finds our desires not too strong, but too weak. We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea. We are far too easily pleased.” - C.S. Lewis, The Weight of Glory

Having grown up in a third-world country, I have vivid images of children making mud pies in a slum.

On the other hand, as an adult, I’ve had the privilege of taking my children on seaside holidays. The difference between the two is striking. If we are offered a holiday at sea, why are we still slumming around in the mud? Have we grown so desensitized by our daily responsibilities that we’ve grown blind to opportunities for a thriving life?

The problem isn’t so much that we are settling for mudpies, the problem is that we are blissfully unaware that a seaside holiday is ours for the taking.

We cannot imagine being on holiday at sea because we’ve grown so comfortable in the simple pleasures of playing in dirt. We’ve grown comfortable – dare I say complacent? – with the life that we know, and can easily do. Afterall, vacations often take us out of our comfort zones and into foreign places. 

The life that Jesus offers us is thriving, rich, and delightful. He talks of an “abundant life”, and “life to the full” (John 10:10). When we are not living up to this potential, we subject our soul to decay, muddied by a life that is far from thriving. Comfort is slowly killing us, and we don’t even know it. 

And the antidote isn’t merely striving to climb a corporate or social ladder to get out of the slums.

Instead, we need to turn our eyes towards Him who is offering us a whole-hearted and deeply satisfying life. We can trade the comfort that mediocrity offers for the great adventure that living a purpose-filled life offers.

Adventure takes work. Purpose takes seeking. But on the other side, is something special.

Around the time we were discerning marriage, my then-boyfriend (now husband) and I were trying to figure out how much “time” was sufficient before deciding to get married. I knew an engagement was on the horizon, but I couldn’t help but think, “Why rock the boat?”. Our relationship felt fresh and fun, and I hesitated at the prospect of changing something that I thought was going quite well. I was clinging on to something good, oblivious to the fact that something better was at the helm. 

Don’t get me wrong; it’s not like our dating relationship felt like making mud pies in a slum. It was wonderful; it was… comfortable. Comfort generally feels good for a moment.

But that’s the danger, isn’t it? When things are going well enough, we can take our foot off the gas pedal and assume we can coast the rest of the way through. We can spend years being comfortable in our great dating relationship, or we can take the risk and jump into the full commitment of marriage. I’m glad we opted for the latter. It took us out of our comfort zones, but boy, are we glad we didn’t waste more time living away from our vocation.  

Pope Benedict XVI said: “The world offers you comfort, but you were not made for comfort. You were made for greatness!” I stumbled upon this essay by Jason Craig that offered further clarity on what is at the heart of the Pope’s message. Craig points to a more precise English translation of the Pope’s 2007 encyclical letter, Spe Salvi. In it, Pope Benedict XVI writes: “Man was created for greatness — for God himself; he was created to be filled by God. But his heart is too small for the greatness to which it is destined. It must be stretched. ‘By delaying [his gift], God strengthens our desire; through desire he enlarges our soul and by expanding it he increases its capacity [for receiving him]’” (emphasis mine). 

Pope Benedict XVI and C.S. Lewis are calling us to a higher capacity for excellence, urging us to orient our desires towards the only true source for greatness: Jesus Christ Himself.  

It’s not always easy to identify areas in our lives that have potential for more. Some might even be tempted to think, “why fix what isn’t broken?” Remember that excellence doesn’t always come in big, impressive strokes. God doesn’t define greatness by extra zeroes in the bank account, a corner office, or a blue check mark at the end of a social media handle. Often, it’s the small changes in our habits that strengthens our resolve to orient our hearts towards greater pursuits. 

Remember the words of St. Paul: “Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things.” (Philippians 4:8)

How does this all apply to your daily life?

Take your friendships for example. How many of yours are just coasting? A friend of mine committed to avoiding mediocrity in her relationships by staying away from what she called “coffee date culture”, where brief interactions between friends happen so infrequently that there’s only ever opportunity for surface-level communication. The fact is, meaningful connections do not just happen overnight, so nurturing meaningful friendships will require intentionality and commitment, and perhaps a re-prioritized calendar. It will require actual effort, vulnerability, and a willingness to know and be known.

Not everything needs to change overnight. 

Maybe you can start with slower, intentional conversations over family dinners. 

Perhaps you can chat with your boss about opportunities that can further your skills at work. 

Ask the Holy Spirit to identify areas in your life that can be reoriented towards the life that Christ offers.

We are destined for greatness, and in that pursuit, we must be stretched in order to identify areas in our lives where we can make room for God to accomplish His great work. 

It is God who is the primary mover in our lives; it is Him that awakens in us the desire for more. It is Him that we seek when we aspire for greatness. In the words of St. Paul in his letter to the Philippians: “I am confident of this, that the one who began a good work among you will bring it to completion by the day of Jesus Christ.” (Philippians 1:6) My prayer for you is that you wash your hands, pack your bags, step outside and feel the air on your cheeks. A holiday at sea awaits.