Let’s face it: You’re addicted. Maybe it’s coffee, social media, or perhaps the quiet, soul-crushing comfort of a 9-to-5 job you claim to hate yet dutifully attend. And don’t deny that embarrassing screen time report—you might as well frame it.
Dependency isn’t just about substances; it’s about anything you rely on to numb reality or distract yourself from the inner voice whispering life could (and probably should) be different. Dependence takes many forms—Netflix marathons, endless scrolling, comfort-zone inertia, and even the smug sense of security provided by a stable paycheck. Beneath these dependencies lies a basic human need: safety. Humans crave predictability, and our prehistoric brains still fear threats. Today, the tiger just wears a suit and sends passive-aggressive emails.
What’s really behind dependency? Fear. Fear of failure, judgment, and the unknown. Let’s be honest: most people will do anything to avoid confronting fear. Instead, we anesthetize ourselves, chaining our potential with routines disguised as comfort. It’s voluntary imprisonment, and ironically, the door is never locked.
Meet Fred. Fred isn’t real, but you probably know him too well. Fred went through life ticking boxes: school, career, marriage, mortgage, and an obligatory collection of beige sweaters. Each morning he suited up for a job he tolerated at best, in a city he didn’t particularly love, only to fund weekends escaping into distractions. Fred once dreamed of sailing oceans, learning guitar, or moving somewhere warmer and freer. But those dreams felt risky, dangerous even, so he buried them beneath decades of mindless habits, comfortable dependencies, and the delusion he’d someday “get around to it.”
Fast forward to Fred at age 74, retired, staring blankly through his neatly trimmed hedge at passing cars, struck by the cruel revelation: he’s been sleepwalking his entire life. He finally sees clearly that the prison he lived in—financial security, societal expectations, habitual escapism—had no locks. The door was always open. He simply refused to walk through it. Now, old and tired, his regrets weigh heavier than imaginary chains ever did.
Here’s the kicker: freedom isn’t a circumstance or a number in your bank account. It begins in your mind with a decision—a bold, terrifying, exhilarating decision to wake up, question your dependencies, and step into uncertainty. You could keep binge-watching life, comfortably numb, or turn off autopilot, stand up, stretch, and walk out the door.
Your call. Remember, doors are funny things: always there, waiting for someone brave (or bored enough) to push them open. Don’t be Fred.