I have always been THAT ass who believed that a life with no meaning, is actually okay because we get to choose our own.
But recently, I’ve realized that the idea that we need to create purpose, is as problematic as having no purpose at all.
I mean, how vain am I to demand the universe to give me meaning?
How am I any better than this Octopus Kare-Kare?
Do I deserve meaning just because I can imagine art and appreciate food?
Humans would go to crazy lengths to find meaning.
We build religions, intoxicate, fornicate, and beat the living crap out of each other.
And despite all this, we remain incapable of finding it.
It seems we are designed to give ourselves existential crises; without realizing that there really is no crisis.
I mean, a world without meaning is not doomed.
It’s not sad. It’s not broken.
It’s okay.
And maybe the purpose of life is not to find answers but to simply experience it.
Its beauty.
Its despair.
And all its craziness.
