Familiarity is comfortable. There is very little anxiety to contend with. It is almost like in a boat drifting in a sea of calm. Nothing moves except when I want it to. To an extent, I liked it. I liked living on my own terms. I liked the unhurried pace. I do not know if familiarity breeds contempt but I am certain that it has bred complacency in me.
Complacency stagnates. Life is getting less exciting. I do the same things everyday. There is no desire to get up, go out and seize the day. I am afraid that the inertia may become so laden that nothing can make me move again. I need to do something to stimulate my mind, apart from reading, photography and the things that I am currently doing now. I need get out from the cocoon that that I withdrew into. I need to get moving again.