What is all this living stuff for?
We live; we die right?
We are overwhelmed with the feeling of having to “do something” with our lives.
Some people go through life completely lost, numbing themselves with distractions like drugs, joy, and sadness. Others (and it’s always others), seemingly have it all together.
But our lives will “do” just fine. We don’t need to help our life “do” anything any more than we need to help our lungs breathe. It will happen.
Now, because life has an ending, we try to “do” the most, or least we can.
Sometimes we try to maximise life by being the biggest, best, happiest, richest.
Sometimes we try to minimise everything by maximising solitude, rebellion, or melancholy.
We may even try to rebel and drop out, or just go along with our lives meandering like a cork in a stream. The measurement always seems to be what you are “doing” with you life, and to “get” the most out of it.
But who said there has to be meaning?
