Drastic changes don't scare me.  I imagine that if I was abducted and taken to Sweden where both my legs were cut off and I was glued to a seat and forced to take bets at an underground cockfighting ring, I'd be all right.  I'd just do whatever I could to improve my situation.  

But I'm horrified of small, almost imperceptible changes in the setting and characters I've come to consider my daily life.  If I were to, one morning, walk into my kitchen and find that my counter was inexplicably made of oak instead of birch, I would be filled to the brim with fear.