Today seems to be another day of struggle; a struggle against meaninglessness, the futility of existence, humanity's self inflated sense of importance, the possibility we are a fluke of randomness and our consciousness an even more of a remote fluke. These thoughts lead me to wonder why we are so needy for meaning, significance, divinity and why humanity as a while is so unwilling to accept as a mere possibility there is nothing beyond this existence.
As always, I tend to come up with more questions; not that I expect to find an answers anymore.
When I first had these thoughts, I was distraught. Not even my dependency on alcohol could numb the existential despair. I slept less than normal, found the daily grind almost unbearable, felt as though I was going out of my mind and anxiety over facing my mortality. I had already felt insignificant as an underachiever, not living up to any "real" standards, failed relationships and fledgling status as an outcast among my friends. I was in somewhat of a tailspin, trying to find answers, desperately seeking the "truth"; if there is such a thing.
These thoughts seem to take over on days like today when I set forth on a new project (in this case a non-fiction book). It is a mechanism of avoidance, avoidance of potential failure for the most part; a strange rite of passage. While there are very few projects I undertake that will have an impact on humanity, or anyone for that matter, I still fight against that little voice in my head screaming "WHAT'S THE POINT?"
Perhaps it's not such a little voice after all, but it is not overpowering either.
These days, however, I am more prepared. Knowing this mindset will arise, I have gotten better at allowing myself to be with the existential thoughts and feelings, slowly watching as they fade away, giving way to a calm that settles out of the emotional storm. It causes no more despair than running late, if not less as I have excepted that the existential view is a reality that has validity, and a very real possibility that it is in fact the correct view.
However, even of it this is the correct view, I am still here and have this existence to experience. The relevance of meaning is, well, meaningless. I have accepted, to some extent, that I will and must create my own meaning in life. Or, more accurately, I am free to determine what is meaningful to me.
Most people would recognize this as their "life's work", their "passion", and some their "destiny". Me, I think of it as liberation to live, the freedom to enjoy the wonder that nature sets forth, the leisure to write and the pleasure of simply being.
This may need some more development...
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