It comes for you when you least expect it: comfort bordering on laziness or giving up. You get into a new routine that suddenly becomes an old routine. You don’t feel like leaving the house, or having adventures. The thought of staying out late gives you anxiety. You forgot how much you’ve accomplished in the last year by taking little chances, taking big risks, and leaving it all out on the line. You suddenly start to care about what everyone else thinks about you and can’t make a concrete decision without talking to everyone you value. Instead of helping, this just jumbles your head with possibilities, all of which seem impossible to you. You forget to do the things you love and worse of all, forget why you love them in the first place. You need to relocate your passion and understand your desires.
I am a victim of my own mind; accepting comfort and all of its dangerous forms. I tend to believe that the grass is always greener on the other side, but sometimes I forget to take care of my own lawn. I am a victim of self-induced paralyzing fear. If I am a product of my childhood, I still walk around in a bubble, but this time it’s of my own doing. If I don’t try anything new, I’ll never learn or grow. Comfort is great and accepting certain unalterable aspects of your life is fine, but not when you’re only twenty-five.