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The more things change, the more they stay the same. I’m not sure who the first person who said that, probably Shakespeare or maybe Sting, but at the moment it’s the sentence that best explains my tragic flaw; my inability to change. I don’t think I’m alone in this, the more I get to know other people, the more I realize it’s kind of everyone’s flaw. Staying exactly the same for as long as possible, standing perfectly still, it feels better somehow. And if you are suffering, at least the pain is familiar. Because if you took that leap of faith, went outside the box, did something unexpected, who knows what other pain may be waiting out there. Chances are it could be even worse. So you maintain the status quo, choose the road already traveled in. It doesn’t seem that bad, not as far as flaws go. You’re not a drug addict; you’re not killing anyone, except maybe yourself a little. When you finally do change I don’t think it happens like an earthquake or an explosion where all a sudden we’re like this different person. I think it’s smaller than that. The kind of thing people wouldn’t even noticed unless they looked really really close, which, thank god they never do. But you notice it, inside you that change feels like a world of difference, and you hope that it is, that this is the person you get to be forever, that you’ll never have to change again.

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