Comfort Zone

My comfort zone consists of my charming family, my girlfriend, certain friends. My father's house. The internet. My bedroom. University. Television. Movie theatres. These things make me feel safe.
I venture out of my comfort zone every time I go out. Every time I go to a pub or club, I'm out. Every time I talk to someone else, someone not in the aforementioned list - a new friend, a workmate even - I'm out. Shopping frightens me. Work is out of my comfort zone. I get anxious just walking to the staff room. I get anxious talking to customers. I don't like new things or new people.
I actually hate leaving my house. There are very few places outside my house in which I feel at ease. Most times I'm itching to move back to a place I can control.

I don't want to travel. Everyone else I know, on holiday now, has plans to venture out to Vietnam, England, Europe, Thailand. Travel is one of the most wonderful experiences a person can have; top of everyone's To Do Before Death. Not mine. I've been to various places in my own country and found them less than a thrill. I don't see the excitement that comes with staring down a sandy canyon. I don't see the breathtaking joy of standing in an art gallery, peering over tourists' heads to try and catch a glimpse of a painting I've seen a million times before (but not like this!)
Is it wrong that I don't want to travel? Will my life be limited, my perspective squashed and distorted by the narrow scope of my experience?
Apparently I should want it. Everyone wants it. Broaden your horizons! Venture into the unknown! Try new things and meet new people!
...why?

I know comfort zones exist by degrees. Some things make us comfortable. Some things make us nervous, anxious, uncomfortable. There are things in between, things that worry us a little, but which we attend to in any case. Sometimes this is rewarding. Stepping out of your comfort zone is rewarding. But I still don't want to. I've rarely found it rewarding. I rarely go to a party and feel glad that I'm there. Mostly I go, and feel out of place, and wish I was home, watching a movie about a party in which the people are attractively drunk.

I'd love to blame it all on some diagnosable disorder. Agoraphobia, perfect. Of course I don't have it. There's nothing wrong with me. Agoraphobics go far beyond nervous. They have panic attacks, refuse to move, won't see people they don't know. I've got no excuse.
Funny how I've always wished for excuses like that. I guess it's easy to be a victim. I'm depressed: I have depression. I'm moody: I have a mood disorder. I'm lonely: I'm the only gay in the village. Excuses are a comfort too.

I'm sure this isn't so unusual, this feeling of mine. Doesn't everyone get uncomfortable in a crowd? Doesn't everyone get nervous when they're talking to someone, trying not to sound so much like a social outcast?
Or not?