Of Junkies And Fixes

Seven straight years of thinking got me nowhere. Two of not got me where I am now, lonely and confused. And did I mention how amazing it is to be here? No? Great, it’s not. But that’s entirely beside the point. We all have someplace we want to be, something we want to have. We go through life directing our efforts towards these, uhm, goals and we rejoice at every minor triumph that helps our own unworthy cause, however insignificant it is even to ourselves. Really now, what is your goal in life? See, I told you…

We force ourselves to commit to aspirations we have no way of knowing that we really want. Like drug addicts, we grope blindly for a fix, however temporary and superficial. And we go on aimlessly as if we have a secret stash that will never run out. Life is a trip, people are suppliers, and we all want to get high on rewards—definitely not the best analogy for existence but it rings an achingly familiar tune. And what to make of purpose in all these then, you may ask. Tell you what, don’t bother looking for one. If you feel the need for searching for a reason, then you don’t deserve one. Don’t worry though; you probably don’t need one either. And if all else fails (you know it’s bound to happen), take relief in the fact that you can always make your own—purpose not drugs, you addict.

So here’s to moving along living with our eyes closed (which, by the way, is easier according to a friend of mine) and hoping that wherever we end up and whatever we come up with when we decide to finally see, we won’t be blinded by the light.

Peace.

PS. You just stay put, sweet thing...