You're saving for retirement. Buying insurance. Locking in the mortgage. Getting the partner to commit. The actions feel responsible. The actions feel safe. Each one is a small wall against an uncertain future. Each one tells you you're prepared. Each one tells you you're still afraid of what might happen if you weren't prepared.
K's observation about security is paradoxical. The act of seeking security is what produces insecurity. The wall acknowledges the threat. The savings account names the loss it's preventing. The mortgage names the homelessness it's defending against. Every act of securing is an act of naming what you're afraid of. The wall is the fear, externalized.
This is why no amount of security ever feels like enough. The act of building it keeps the fear active. People with the most money are not less anxious about money. They're more anxious, often, because they have more to lose and have spent more energy keeping it. The seeking is the disease. The walls are the disease. The fear was supposed to be solved by the security. The security is the fear, made of bricks.
Notice the body of someone in mid-securing. The slight forward lean. The vigilance. The checking. The unease that isn't about anything happening. It's about everything that might happen. The body is permanently in pre-defense mode. The pre-defense mode IS the insecurity. The security project is the insecurity, deployed.
You can't build your way out of fear. Every wall is a fence around the fear, keeping it warm. The end of fear isn't at the top of the security pile. It's in not asking for the security in the first place. K knew this. The world doesn't.