I call it comfort living. Being so set in a lifestyle to the point where routines and repetitiveness are the norm. Families living in homes for 20+ years, holidaying to the same beach house, living a life that your parents lived, and the one that their parents lived. I don’t want to be like that. Comfort is great, sure. No doubt. But only to a certain extent. Soon it becomes boring and you forget the point. Of life, that is.