Comfortable Purgatory: Why You Settle for “Not That Bad”

You're not miserable. But you're not thrilled either. And that's precisely the problem.

That job? It's okay. The meetings drag on, but at least you're not being yelled at. The coffee is free. The paycheck arrives. Your boss isn't toxic, just indifferent. The relationship? Not terrible. You argue less than your friends do. They remember your birthday. There's affection, occasionally. It could be worse.

It could be worse

And that phrase—"it could be worse"—has become your unofficial life motto. You wear it like armour. Because if things aren't broken, why fix them? Why stir the pot when you can keep coasting? It's not that you're lazy. You're just... fine. And "fine" is dangerous.

You've slipped into purgatory.

Not the religious kind. The existential kind. A holding pattern. No fire under your feet, but also no spark in your eyes. This in-between is seductive. It asks nothing from you. It demands no courage, no change. It trades in just enough comfort to keep you from risking discomfort. Just enough routine to numb your sense of possibility.

But here's the truth: "not terrible" is not a life strategy. It's a fear response. It's your inner risk manager talking you out of everything that might make your heart beat faster. You cling to what's tolerable because you've been taught that dissatisfaction is ungrateful. The idea that wanting more means you're spoiled.

You're not. You're human. And humans are wired to seek meaning, not maintenance.

When you settle for "not that bad," you abandon the chance for something extraordinary. You forget that discomfort isn't always a threat—it's often a signal. It tells you where the growth is. It's how you know you're alive. But purgatory dulls that instinct. It whispers that comfort is the same as happiness. It isn't. Comfort without progress is stagnation with a blanket over it.

Would you be proud of this in 5 years?

So ask yourself: if nothing changed—this job, this relationship, this version of your life—would you still be proud of it five years from now?

If your answer is "I guess I'd manage," that's the purgatory talking. That's the version of you who plays not to lose, instead of playing to win.

Get uncomfortable—risk awkward conversations. Start the side project. Question the routine. Make small rebellions against the lukewarm. You don't need a crisis to change. You need honesty.

Don't wait for things to fall apart before you demand better. Choose now.