Early this morning I posted some thoughts that I have since put a little more thought to:
I believe this natural inclination to forget the inevitable fleetingness of our lives and memories is one thing that keeps us living with such passion. It helps me realize that we are small, passing, and imperfect, yet empowered to decorate our lives the way we desire and fill them with baskets of joy, pain, and everything in-between. If we were to look at life and realize how we’re all tiny grains of sand that will eventually whither away on a beach that expands beyond all thought and matter, then we would feel entirely hopeless; meaning would slip away after it realized it was never there. However this is the truth (maybe…), and it is bittersweet. As individuals we are nothing, which gives us the power to be anything, and thus everything. We produce our own meaning, significance, and self-worth.
Nevertheless, the question of what we are still bugs me. How are we a unified species at all if we're constructing our own values and defining ourselves independently? Something to ponder...
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