I take all kinds of wild and senseless risks. I’ll happily do something that everyone in their right mind advises me against just for the experience, and I never flinch from these things or regret them later because I make a point of learning from them, or at least enjoying the ride when I refuse to learn. Situations that tap my adaptability don’t frighten me; rather I run out into the storm screaming “Bring it on!”, not because I think I’ll win but because I love the process of the attempt.

What scares me is the prospect of losing my my edge. Domestication. I need that inner turmoil and that dramatic struggle to keep me sharp. I don’t challenge myself by pushing my limits physically. My endurance, my strength and my keenest weaponry are all mental and emotional. You don’t get that at the gym, you get it from open eyes and life experiences and I’ve got those in spades. Everything else is secondary.

It seems odd that the thing I am least comfortable with is the concept of comfort. I do not want to just be “happy”. Like a working dog needs to work or a predator needs to hunt, I require strife to grow.

That may seem a bit off, but I am okay with that.

…Internet armchair psychologists may now start your engines.