What is it, exactly, that I want from life?
The weirdest part about that question, different from all the other times it has been asked, is the fact that I may be on the precipice of being able to answer.
It’s almost trivial how my life has played out so far. So many self-induced dilemmas I have faced that made me question a question that I’ve never yet answered.
Life is vastly complex in its simplicity.
Existing is never enough. We always want more; more meaning to wake up in the mornings. More reasons to want to.
Because somehow, along the path of life paved for centuries, just getting up became not good enough.
We’ve been blessed with life; with the ability to do whatever we can imagine. Such a gift, yet we’ve spent that time questioning it, and our right to.
We are undoubtedly a doubtful species.
What is our alternative though?
To accept the fact that as vivid and fulfilling life may be. It is, alas, as bleak as we had suspected?
That we live materialistic lives because life itself is materialistic also?
That no matter what we do in life. No matter the choices we make to try and create a happy life – no one is going to care?
It’s harsh. So harsh. Too harsh to accept. So we don’t.