Wrote this today while on lunch break, thought I might as well type it up and put it somewhere. It's not very centralized, just ramblings.
I have often pondered the futility of existing.
A strange thought for a person still so young they tell me, but in a world where life is so fragile as to be snuffed out between one heartbeat and the next, does age even matter? Compared to the ageless wonders of the world, natural or man made, does not one life pale in comparison? I sit at a window on my lunch break, food finished, the sandwich wrapper crumpled up and placed aside with the crumbs on my lap, and I slow down my world and observe.
I see the traffic rush by my downtown work place caught up in the rat race; a man in an expensive car impatiently cutting off his fellow drivers in a rush to be somewhere, his erratic driving a danger to those around him. A young lady walks by, oblivious to the world outside of her iPod as her headphones cut her off from human contact. She never notices how an elderly woman swerves around her digging frantically in her purse; almost hitting her. Perhaps neither of them ever noticed the other. Or the elderly man with the leather skinned face burned dark from years of hard work, looking tired and weary of the world as he picks up the countless pieces of litter tossed to the curb. His sweat glistens on his wrinkled brow, and I can almost feel the heat myself. I look back to my paper.
Do they see each other? Or am I the only audience to this small act in the play we call life; the only one to stop and take pause and wonder? I ask myself, "Do they wonder about the other side of the fence? Do they think about the what-if moments in their life?". Surely they must, I tell myself. But I cannot imagine how a person would subject themselves to the futile repetitions of the daily grind over and over each day anew, accepting that this is their fate.
Of course, I have not been speaking about the futility of life. But rather, the futility of existing, and accepting that as all that is desired; or having no wish to change.
Do we not yearn to be more? Did we forget, that as children we dreamed of the world? Now we only exist in our small sphere of work, home, and perhaps a small social group; our dreams woken to "reality". We often say "live in the now" to sound like we are alive, but this is only the merest of excuses and put offs. BEING in the now is not living, but simply reacting to the world around us as it's changes come in strides, leaps, and bursts. Must we debate the matter?
To exist is not to live; though we exist because we live. Reaction to other's actions only moves us from one day to the next. Ask any working class person who feels like their office cubicle shrinks a little more every day what they have worked on for the past week, and I doubt they would be able to give you more than scant details. After all, the mind does not remember what is done when you only react. That is only the body. Existence is the heartbeat. LIVING is the soul, and we have forgotten to feed our soul with our dreams.
We have become the mouse in the maze, repeating a task over and over for a piece of cheese, and ignore the feast the world has to offer.
It is a small wonder when Jesus said that only those with the faith of a child would enter the Kingdom of God; A child has not yet forgotten how to dream.
To dream and desire more from life in ways that seem impossible; that is Living. To enjoy each and every waking moment as if it might be your last, that is Living. To remember what you did the day before and WHO you were with, and the feelings you experienced; that is Living.
I pity those who have forgotten their dreams and never visited them again; How can such a person enjoy the precious little time they have?
That is the futility of existence. To exist and never live, is a waste of a perfect life. Don't forget to dream.
Rene Descartes once said "I think, therefore I am." and based an argument upon that statement as the only plausible defense of existence.
I think a more fitting phrase ought to be "I dream, therefore, I am."
But of course, I am only that working class man, with an 8 hour shift, day in day out like the rest; what do I know? My lunch break is over, and so I bid you farewell.
But I shall continue to dream.