Have you ever felt there’s a lack of meaning in the world? That life itself is meaningless, despite our human attempts to give it heft?
I do. I look at all the trash building up, filling all our landfills (until I wonder if we’ll just be living on landfill)…and I hear that the Northwest Passage might not be usable as a shipping lane because of global warming…and I hear MTV in the background (the VMAs are on) and I look at all of them, at all the jet fuel they use to get there and all the hours they spend on appearance, and the stupid parties they’ll all attend, and how meaningless it is…and then I think of all the mean cruel people in the world, of dictators and drug lords…oh shit, people don’t even have to be cruel to be bad to the world!
I think about how people don’t TRY, and how people just consume without thought and without consideration and don’t stretch themselves, and how they are just on apathetic autopilot, sucking up all the oxygen in the atmosphere…and I then think, “Man, maybe it’s a good thing I don’t have children, because I would be up every night wondering what kind of world we’re leaving behind to them.”
I look at a blank page and write and then I think, “What good is this?” What good is writing a few words down–will it save the world at all?
And then I think about my life, stretching itself before me. What meaning will it have?
Ugh. These are Saturday night thoughts in my life.
Ugh. Didn’t I have these thoughts twenty years ago, in high school? And somehow, I struggled onward to live two more decades.