I always thought that one life was too precious to spend all of it living in one place, and recently I found myself thinking that it is in fact too precious to spend all of it being the same person.
To like the same old things. To do the same old things.
Feeling stuck in my own personality and habits now feels the way I felt about a decade ago when I thought I was doomed to spend my whole life in Yerevan.
I guess we humans have evolved to seek comfort and safety. And a large part of it comes from familiarity. Some of my friends have been sitting in front of the same keyboard doing the same thing every day, getting a little bit better at it with every keystroke. At some point the consistent output of their routine started generating dopamine, and there was no longer any rational reason to go beyond mild theoretical contemplations of alternatives.
There was a time I envied that. We are hardwired to envy observable dopamine output.
What a colossal waste of a life. I am now convinced that I would feel more fulfilled if I typed on a different keyboard every day. I would probably be a lot less efficient, but I am no longer interested in the final result — I keep in mind that the final result is always death, nonexistence forever.
But to have been as many people as I could cram into this one life, what better way to embody to the universe how grateful I was to have been a human being that lived?