Once again, you find me dwelling on the meaning of life. On a Saturday morning (straight face). When everything is bright and sunny and there is no reason for me to hide in a dark corner, unsure of what to believe.
Why can’t I just have a beautiful day without thinking that everything is pointless? Why do I even bother? All of this is beyond my comprehension. All that life is, is beyond any meaning. The only way I can keep myself at the surface is to constantly give it meaning. Which is tiresome. And mind you: give, not search. Searching for meaning where there is none is a complete waste of time. But I’m falling down the rabbit hole every time I’m getting to this.
Everything will end at some point, that’s why I find it so difficult to enjoy the ride.
What makes life so precious? Is it the uncertainty of the next day? The challenge of constantly having to create yourself? The yearning for the truth? How fragile and delicate human lives are? Why do we need a meaning?