He lived a little life, replete with little aspirations, little dreams, little excitement, and, by extension, little “accomplishments” too. But that was all fine and dandy with him; he never aspired to be a game-changer, a world-shaker, a legacy-leaver, an exemplar. His only goal in life for as long as he could remember was to live as long as he possibly could, which then logically translated into pursuing a life path as bereft of danger and perceived obstacles as humanly possible so as to advance his paramount objective of advancing longevity, even and ESPECIALLY if that came at the expense of excitement and risk-taking. Adventure-seeking and risk-taking were best left to others badly in want of common sense; his primary concern was purely and simply to remain on the surface of Earth as a conscious entity for as long as he could. They could fight all they wanted over the nectareous frosting so long as they left the lion’s share of the cake for him. All that empyreal stuff on the emotion spectrum—excitement, piquancy, adrenaline, sexy add-ons— was for the losers in life. He didn’t require any of those non-essential things, and he found that through rote drudgery he could get by ridiculously easy without them. Other people could rue the boringness and monotony of his life all they wanted, but it suited him just fine. At least that’s what he told himself, and a surprisingly large swath of his brain had actually come to believe this self-fed propaganda.
Fred's Soapbox 