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"You are the product of a trillion accidents, ever since the universe blew into existence. You are marvelous, impossible, brilliant, and terrible. There is so much to experience, and you're capable of experiencing it! You can put words to emotion, you can make music... one of the deepest callings in humanity."
I'm at a really bad stage in my life to be contemplating existentialism. I'm young, I'm strong, but I have no job and I'm bored. When I'm bored, I turn inwards. I used to ask, "Why am I here?" Now that I'm an atheist, I know that there really is no reason for me to be here. I have the freedom to make my own reason, and that's pretty scary for me. I've never been one to do well when there's an overabundance of choice. Most of the time, I freeze up until someone else can take the reins. While I don't really like it, I've got the mentality of a follower, not a leader. (On the other hand, I am a damn good follower. But that's beside the point.)
Actually... hmm.
To be honest, when I started writing this, I was expecting to go into a long, ponderous ramble about existential matters, and hopefully come to a conclusion at the end. Why should I care about anything if nothing matters? If I can choose what matters and what doesn't, how far should I go in choosing my beliefs? How much stock should I put in what other people think?
But to be honest, that's kind of all slipped to the side. In the last few minutes that I've been writing this, I've already decided.
I'm going to scrape money together until I can afford to get my P plates (my driver's license, for any non-Australian readers). As soon as that's done, I'm going to look up north, and try to find work in the mines. They're always looking for unskilled labourers, and you can earn top dollar there. As long as you're willing to do the work, you can make a fortune, and right now there are two things I'm interested: working my arse off and making money. I can't sit at a desk all day and type, I need to get out there and use my body. when I I loved the feeling of getting back home after a hard day of painting and collapsing, knowing I'd done my part.
But I ramble. Point is, I foresee a year of work ahead. I've talked a lot about visiting my friends and travelling overseas and all that jazz, but for that I need money. And where there are mines, there are always two things to be found: work and money.
I think that working will help me mentally, too. While I was painting, I was relatively well-composed, but as I said before, I turn inwards when I'm bored, and I don't like what I see. This very entry came quite close to being an example of that. "Work is the best antidote for sorrow," as a friend once told me, and I want to work.
And now I'm just repeating myself, so I'll leave off here. In the meantime, I'm going to have to scrabble for cash until I can get my license, but once that's out of the way, I can finally kick off and start moving forward. I've done everything there is to do here, time to go.
I'm at a really bad stage in my life to be contemplating existentialism. I'm young, I'm strong, but I have no job and I'm bored. When I'm bored, I turn inwards. I used to ask, "Why am I here?" Now that I'm an atheist, I know that there really is no reason for me to be here. I have the freedom to make my own reason, and that's pretty scary for me. I've never been one to do well when there's an overabundance of choice. Most of the time, I freeze up until someone else can take the reins. While I don't really like it, I've got the mentality of a follower, not a leader. (On the other hand, I am a damn good follower. But that's beside the point.)
Actually... hmm.
To be honest, when I started writing this, I was expecting to go into a long, ponderous ramble about existential matters, and hopefully come to a conclusion at the end. Why should I care about anything if nothing matters? If I can choose what matters and what doesn't, how far should I go in choosing my beliefs? How much stock should I put in what other people think?
But to be honest, that's kind of all slipped to the side. In the last few minutes that I've been writing this, I've already decided.
I'm going to scrape money together until I can afford to get my P plates (my driver's license, for any non-Australian readers). As soon as that's done, I'm going to look up north, and try to find work in the mines. They're always looking for unskilled labourers, and you can earn top dollar there. As long as you're willing to do the work, you can make a fortune, and right now there are two things I'm interested: working my arse off and making money. I can't sit at a desk all day and type, I need to get out there and use my body. when I I loved the feeling of getting back home after a hard day of painting and collapsing, knowing I'd done my part.
But I ramble. Point is, I foresee a year of work ahead. I've talked a lot about visiting my friends and travelling overseas and all that jazz, but for that I need money. And where there are mines, there are always two things to be found: work and money.
I think that working will help me mentally, too. While I was painting, I was relatively well-composed, but as I said before, I turn inwards when I'm bored, and I don't like what I see. This very entry came quite close to being an example of that. "Work is the best antidote for sorrow," as a friend once told me, and I want to work.
And now I'm just repeating myself, so I'll leave off here. In the meantime, I'm going to have to scrabble for cash until I can get my license, but once that's out of the way, I can finally kick off and start moving forward. I've done everything there is to do here, time to go.
