The Hope in Futility and a Side of Fodder

I don’t think I conceived this notion in one unknown day, in one bedding with misfortune. Rather, I have a feeling that it came in several episodes of irony, anxiety, and possibly slight depression. Either way, I’ve come to see life in a way that many people likely see it. There is no inherent purpose to living. Objective truths present themselves as scientific facts. We are plagued with social constructs so deeply embedded in our heads that we can only with great introspection discern them– there is no beauty on earth. Life is moments of pleasure, pain, and confusion. We assign import to trivial things (which in this world is any thing) and sometimes we pursue them. We are fundamentally equal with all other creatures and facets of the universe. The squirrel I saw running around today is as quintessential to life as my existence. (If anything can be called important when everything is equal,) The dead skin cells on my pillow case are no less important to the essence of humanity than Winston Churchill.

I accepted this one step at a time. After countless days of waking up trembling and terrified of existing, I came to terms with the fact that no matter what I did, it would not matter ultimately. We all die; some of us are remembered for a generation or many, some of us are not.. but we’re dead after we die, so that (preoccupation) affects us not. In the meantime, between now and the moment I breathe my last, I’ve assigned myself the mission of enjoying everything I can and want to, and trying my best to not negatively affect other people in the process. With this is the addendum of not regretting a single thing. For every offense I’ve committed against others and myself, I forgive myself. All the times I’ve been disappointed, all the times I’ve been hurt, all the times I’ve endured, I use and will use as calls for better judgement in the future. This is the most liberating notion I’ve ever created or discovered, and is at the core of who I strive to be.

Interlude: This all seems so melodramatic. Let is also be known that it is a Friday night, and I am alone. 

It is a conflicting idea. If there are no rights or wrongs (aside from the scientific), how am I supposed to justify human rights? How am I supposed to fight the struggle of the marginalized groups which I constitute and ally myself with those I don’t but do believe in? I am in the process (now and probably for the rest of my life) of figuring this all out. Ideally, I engage in discourse with others, but sometimes solitary contemplation must suffice. I suppose now that I am not trying to get at a truth, rather, I am trying to create one. I am trying to create something which I do not believe to inherently exist. I find myself in greater dilemmas and ironies every day. This all should give me something to think about until I die, I guess.