The Meaning of Life

You may forget memories but you can’t forget an emotion. People may forget what you did for them, but they can never forget how you made them feel. We all want to find meaning to life. We are all so clouded in this endless race, trying to find our very own nirvanas. A cycle of continuous. An infinity in its very nature. We all want to find meaning to everything. I have spent so long trying to perfect my ideas not realizing that perfection is an infinity in its very self. For every step you take closer to it, an infinite number of steps you are away from it. I didn’t realize that I just needed to do it.

JUST DO IT

Do it, not because you are tired of pondering, encapsulating, searching for meaning. Do it because you know you will never reach perfection. Do it because you understand very well that perfection is always going to be a billion miles away. And what truly is perfection? Is there really anything wrong with the world if this is all we have ever known it to be? What is right and what is wrong? What is good and what is bad? What is mesmerizing and what is repulsive? For all is unique in its own identity as befits the individual it is apportioned to. A continuous war on damnation, trying to make things better. Trying to make things “perfect.” But life is already perfect in its own nature. Life is perfect because it is imperfect. Life is perfect because it does not satisfy all. Life is perfect because there is a balance between good and evil. For if everyone is winning, then is anyone really winning?

Ideas.

What are they really?

Of what good is an idea? How important is an idea? When do we draw the line between that which is useful and that which we think is. I’ve spent a long amount of hours trying to perfect ideas not understanding that an idea is a seed. You may always understand the potential. You may always dream abut the tree and the many more fruits it can bear. You may perceive in your mind the level and manner of accolade that may follow. But at the end of the day, you will have to come to realization that it is just a seed, and until you throw it deep into the ground, and water it, and nurture it, and provide all the necessary details needed to make sure that plant grows.. it will always be a seed. An idea. A part of the process but never at all, really the process. Humans. We grow. We want to be better. We don’t want to die. We want to live. We want to explore. We want to understand and breathe and love. We want to do all these things, only if these things bring nothing but fruition. This is what we have understood these things to bring. A little bit more. Maybe just one more day to really process, to think.. you know, to search for meaning in a world that offers us no aid at all to our deepest and truest of desires. Trying so hard to find perfection in the things we want to believe in.

Life is the greatest theatric that there is. A play in its very self. A satire. After all, aren’t we all searching for the meaning of life?