You've heard me say I like to travel. You've heard me talk about relocating to another job in another state or another country, ... all because I want to avoid getting static and calcified and mentally arthritic, because I want to keep flexible, because I love what's different.
What rubbish.
If any of that were true I wouldn't be so shy. And if any of that were true, I wouldn't put off unpleasant or unfamiliar tasks. I wouldn't put off for months something as simple as making a doctor's appointment, ... because I could just tell myself that this unfamiliar activity is part of what they do in this unfamiliar country called the Real World. I wouldn't avoid other unfamiliar things, ... not if I liked the unfamiliar.
No, in reality I talk about liking the strange and new; but in fact I'm very comfortable settling into a snug, stable routine. I don't mind having the same thing for breakfast five days in a row, so long as I can putter along on my familiar little track: going to work, going home, going to the movies, reading my books. All in comfort and security.
Hypocrite.
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