The saddest archetype I observe is the comfortably numb 27-year-old guy with a “stable” job making around $150k per year. He probably wears a no-date submariner and lives in a respectable apartment. He looks forward to his 7 pm Chipotle burrito accompanied by the new show he’s binging on the couch after work. Every day is the same, and it’ll stay that way until he has enough in his 401k to retire or he implodes and drops everything – whichever happens first. Eventually, one of his “work buddies” will introduce him to a girl he deems good enough. She’s not everything he dreamed of, but he’s almost 30 and feels the societal pressure to put a ring on it. He gets angry when he sees younger dudes on social media driving supercars and finds a way to invalidate their success. “That’s a scam,” he tells himself so he can comfortably ignore the possibility that life could’ve been more than looking forward to the weekend and football season. To his bubble of naivety, he returns. He’s miserable but not miserable enough to actually change anything. It’s a life of good enough. An existence that consists of negotiating down dreams that were once possible until he started to give in to the comfort that comes with predictability. There’s nothing inherently wrong with it. He’s not doing anything harmful, and maybe he finds enjoyment in the monotony. I can’t hate on a path I didn’t choose, but I never felt like it was for me.