Life is Fickle

The world is a never-ending descent down into a well with no bottom towards a destination that changes based on your mood at any given moment. It is constantly in flux and unpredictable. It has no conscience. It cares not for your dreams and inclinations. It is fickle.

On its face, this sounds awful. But once you accept the chaos, and that literally nothing matters in the grand scheme of things, it can provide a sense of calm. It might not be the calm someone experiences once they’ve decided to kill themselves, but it’s something. At the end of the day, something is better than no thing. It’s the little things that keep us going, and boy oh boy, I am grasping at the littlest of things with this one.

Were I to die tomorrow, nothing would change. The world would keep spinning. The stock markets would open. The sun would rise. Sure, there would be people sad about me being wherever dead people go. But ultimately, undeniably, nothing would change. Understanding how unconsequential I am in the grand scheme of things is a relief. It’s one less thing to worry about in a world that breeds worry like a middle-aged woman in Connecticut picking out the best Pekingnese of the litter to show at Westminster.

Routine, if nothing else, keeps me going when nothing else will. I really enjoy the taste of coffee. Music is fantastic. A bottle of wine after a long day is joyous. The laughter of my friends. The purr of my cat. Life finds a way. It’s all meaningless in the scope of the universe. But that’s okay, because it’s all we have. This is all we’ll likely ever know. That’s fine.

Life is nothing but a slow walk towards an inevitable fate. I’ve been told it’s inevitable, but my gut tells me I’ll live until the sun explodes. Science and common sense might tell you that’s insane, but you literally can’t disprove it. That’s gotta drive some people crazy. Maybe I’m the guy who lives to tell the story of humanity to the 23rd century. Spite keeps me alive if this is true.