365 Days (2): Day 49
The sun was in my eyes, yeah, that was it.
From one of my recent LJ entries: "I tend to take the everything must have meaning thing to extremes though, looking for it in every single thing, be it seemingly insignificant or momentous. The interconnectedness, the chain reaction, the six degrees of separation --- something can't happen for nothing, can it? Meaning, meaning, meaning – I'm searching for it everywhere and in everything. Not just in myself but in the events that happen and the things I experience or what I learn and know or don't know. Meanwhile, I realize that I have to accept that sometimes there is no meaning, no reason for something. I hate that and a part of my brain refuses to believe it, even when I'm forced to accept it on some level.
Why I chose to want everything to mean something, I don't know. Most of the time that just causes me heartache and/or confusion. Many people just accept that things happen and that's just the way it goes. I'm always asking “Why?” and “What am I supposed to be learning from this?” and “What does it mean?” and “What's my relation to this instance, this particular experience?” Yes, it's likely driving me crazy. If I could just shut off my brain, stop the loop and constant inquisition, things might be easier. Reflection is good and all and I definitely believe that one should think of the implications of choices and way one lives their life --- but my goodness, to base one's core on this “everything means something” belief is hard on the self. When the situation is negative or an outcome is difficult, it's taken to heart and internalized to the point where it becomes personal and almost a form of self-harm.
I want things to mean something because I don't want to live a life that has no purpose, no relevance, no meaning. I don't want to accept the possible reality that I am just a number, a statistic, a fleeting spec in time that will be obliterated with no effect except to have contributed the waste of my body and innumerable non-biodegradable plastic bags to landfills. Brutal, but the fact that I matter not is a harsh blow to the ego. Even worse is that everything I have experienced and any lessons I may have learned or any possible contributions I could make to society (or may have already) are nothing and mean nothing. Cue the song Dust in the Wind but geesh, it's depressing!
I always thought I was supposed to do more and be more and have some sort of impact – change things for the better, ya know? - but as I get older and things are as they are and become as they have, I'm feeling kind of stupid and like the chance was lost, if it ever existed at all. There are people who do things with their lives and there are people who don't and despite my intentions or desires from an early age to be something or do something important, it hasn't happened yet. I'm often inspired and when my soapbox comes out, I express my ideas and opinions, but really, who's listening? More importantly, who cares? Who am I? And yet, when I put myself down like that, I know that there is something wrong with that - the same as saying that other people's thoughts and views mean nothing if they are “unknown” too - which is not the way I feel at all."
365 Days (2): Day 49
The sun was in my eyes, yeah, that was it.
From one of my recent LJ entries: "I tend to take the everything must have meaning thing to extremes though, looking for it in every single thing, be it seemingly insignificant or momentous. The interconnectedness, the chain reaction, the six degrees of separation --- something can't happen for nothing, can it? Meaning, meaning, meaning – I'm searching for it everywhere and in everything. Not just in myself but in the events that happen and the things I experience or what I learn and know or don't know. Meanwhile, I realize that I have to accept that sometimes there is no meaning, no reason for something. I hate that and a part of my brain refuses to believe it, even when I'm forced to accept it on some level.
Why I chose to want everything to mean something, I don't know. Most of the time that just causes me heartache and/or confusion. Many people just accept that things happen and that's just the way it goes. I'm always asking “Why?” and “What am I supposed to be learning from this?” and “What does it mean?” and “What's my relation to this instance, this particular experience?” Yes, it's likely driving me crazy. If I could just shut off my brain, stop the loop and constant inquisition, things might be easier. Reflection is good and all and I definitely believe that one should think of the implications of choices and way one lives their life --- but my goodness, to base one's core on this “everything means something” belief is hard on the self. When the situation is negative or an outcome is difficult, it's taken to heart and internalized to the point where it becomes personal and almost a form of self-harm.
I want things to mean something because I don't want to live a life that has no purpose, no relevance, no meaning. I don't want to accept the possible reality that I am just a number, a statistic, a fleeting spec in time that will be obliterated with no effect except to have contributed the waste of my body and innumerable non-biodegradable plastic bags to landfills. Brutal, but the fact that I matter not is a harsh blow to the ego. Even worse is that everything I have experienced and any lessons I may have learned or any possible contributions I could make to society (or may have already) are nothing and mean nothing. Cue the song Dust in the Wind but geesh, it's depressing!
I always thought I was supposed to do more and be more and have some sort of impact – change things for the better, ya know? - but as I get older and things are as they are and become as they have, I'm feeling kind of stupid and like the chance was lost, if it ever existed at all. There are people who do things with their lives and there are people who don't and despite my intentions or desires from an early age to be something or do something important, it hasn't happened yet. I'm often inspired and when my soapbox comes out, I express my ideas and opinions, but really, who's listening? More importantly, who cares? Who am I? And yet, when I put myself down like that, I know that there is something wrong with that - the same as saying that other people's thoughts and views mean nothing if they are “unknown” too - which is not the way I feel at all."