I had a good job – relatively speaking.
It paid for the groceries, school fees, and electricity – for most of the month.
But even so, it was comfortable – comfortable enough to numb the discomfort that came with wasting my life doing something meaningless.
However, the safety it offered – albeit illusory – seemed worth numbing the mind for.
Was I addicted to false security?
Did I latch onto something that ironically made me more unstable?
Perhaps survival mode is humanity’s default setting and we view comfort as the only way out.
But by staying comfortably uncomfortable, are we not condemning ourselves to a life within the confines of survival mode?
Are we not just organising the chaos that makes us feel less than average?
A rather strange obsession.
What if discomfort cannot be avoided either way?
What if the greatest risk is not taking any risk at all?
Perhaps that’s where the real danger lies.
Maybe the real yellow brick road to living is straight through fear;
A place where true freedom is found.
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problem; my best relationship