I had a dream once, where my teeth loosened from their sockets and popped right into the palms of my hands with a slight tug. I must have pulled out a good 200 teeth that dream (they just kept growing right back, sometimes 4 in the same socket) and I awoke in the middle night with horror filled images of bloody incisors in my brain. The next morning, Google told me that it was a sign of insecurity, a negative reaction to change.
I don’t like change. I think it stems from an indefinite sense of contentment that nestles deep within my belly. It is a willingness to accept everything and anything, because I can and because eventually, I will. The only time I welcome change is when it comes in the form of a last-resort kind of escape. The kind that I have to face because reality is too difficult to face and a change of scenery would be a definite improvement.
I’m not adventurous, I’m not plagued by a wanderlust no amount of travelling can put out and I’m perfectly alright with staying at home the entire weekend plugged in to my favourite source of entertainment — the television. I think what frightens me is that change is synonymous with a form of uncertainty that has this uncanny ability to gnaw away at my marrow and set my sanity on fire. I am afraid that changing things would make life infinite times worse than it already is. I can live with whatever I have now, but I’m not sure if I can live with whatever unknown force that comes packaged with change.
I wish I could though. I wish that like everyone else, I could come blessed with the courage to pack my things, hop onto a plane and run around a foreign town with bags on my shoulders but no baggage in sight. I wish I would be able to dream of uprooting my life and planting seeds in a strange land where shops close at 5 and roads are unpopulated by 6. I wish I could be a little more adventurous, I wish I could see the sun rise in 5 different cities and see it set in 7 different continents.
But as of now, I’m alright with where I am. Despite the nagging feeling never going away, I’m generally pretty ok with being stuck in the same routines and seeing the same people. I think that’s what’s so comfortable about being stuck in a rut — there’s a certainty. A certainty that tomorrow will go the same way, sprinkled with the right amount of bumps and troughs. Enough to keep things interesting, but not enough to keep you from wanting even more.