The Beauty in the Meaninglessness of Life

Another philosophical blog. 

Life is pretty meaningless when you think about it. Weird to say, I know but really when you think about what the meaning of life is, we all get different answers and more questions.

We all go through these periods of life where we wonder about who we are and why we are put on this earth and the thing is, no answer you are given is correct. It’s impossible to know exactly what the meaning of life is, so instead we are left to wonder. Our beliefs are simply beliefs because they can make sense to us but they won’t to other’s so I don’t expect you to understand what I mean with the following blog but indulge me for a moment as my persona continues to write.

When I was 16 I thought the purpose of life was to be religious because I thought God had put us on this earth as a test of our behavior and if we were good, we’d go to heaven and if we were bad, we’d go to hell. I came to this conclusion cause I wondered what would happen to me whenever I die. We all have to die someday and when you’re taught as a child that Hell is an evil place full of fire and anguish, you tend to want to avoid that shit.

At the same age, around the summer of 2011, I went to Atlanta and had a horrible experience there because I was invited to stay by my aunt who pretty much convinced my mother to let me go with her, when I got there it hadn’t even been a day that she was like, “So when are you gonna go back home?” It wasn’t like I was a bad guest either, I kept to myself, cleaned up after myself, but nevertheless she had me stay with her brother at his house. It turns out, he didn’t really have a house he just lived with this old white woman in a shitty part of Atlanta (called Atlanta) I swear the neighborhood he lived in was so unbelievably racist, when I was getting dropped off there I saw crosses that were charred from being burned the other night and “KKK” on a fence.

My Uncle also drove this blue 1980-something pick-up truck, everywhere we went, it would breakdown like every 10 minutes. Like a couple weeks later, I was begging my mom to let me come home and my aunt (whom I spoke about earlier who was in such a rush to bring me back home) offered to buy my plane ticket, and I was all over that. But my Uncle was planning to come back to see my mom or whatever and my mom said I should go with him cause he would need some company, of course I said in the nicest way possible: “There’s no fucking way that’s happening.” but of course, I can’t argue with my mother so I said fine. The day finally comes and I’m ready to leave and go back home. The night before we left, I should mention, there was this other old lady, named Gloria (I think), whom my uncle I guess had a thing for and she was gross, not cause she was old but, well yeah she was old but also cause she smoked and I hadn’t been around smokers so long to be able to tolerate it but she was just fucking weird. She wanted to come with my uncle and I to Houston. Why? I honestly, do not know. My uncle’s roommate (which is the wrong word to use since she owned the house) said he shouldn’t bring her cause she would be a hassle to bring on such a long trip. And he agreed and said,  “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” The next day we’re in the truck and the first thing we do before we leave Atlanta? Yep you guessed it. Picked Gloria up. Why? Well, I asked him why and he said, “Because she’ll be good company.” For who? For you? Then what the fuck am I doing here?!?! The car broke down so many times that I lost count. I was so angry and so fucking frustrated.

The reason why I went to Atlanta in the first place was cause I wasn’t in a good place emotionally, a lot of bullshit was happening and my aunt thought it would be a good idea for me to get away from the house, you know? And look how that turned out. It took us 2 days, 2 days to get from Atlanta to Houston when for the rest of the world, it’s supposed to take half a day. By the end of the first day, we were in a dangerous part of New Orleans and the car had just stopped completely so we needed to give the car a break (or so my Uncle said) so we rested, cause fuck everything at this point. I couldn’t sleep cause I was so angry and the whole ride there, I tried to shrug it off by listening to music and then my Mp3 player’s battery died and I was forced to listen to Gloria snoring like a gotdamn walrus as well as endure the smell of cigarettes and Ben-gay (I don’t know where the Ben-gay came from but I swore I fucking smelled it). I wanted to yell at someone, I wanted to shout at my mom for not letting me take a fucking plane so I could have been home already (but I could never yell at my mom you guys) As soon as we were about to leave New Orleans, we had to fill up the gas and I offered to go inside and pay the guy so I could be away from them and get some room to breathe.

As soon as I got out of the truck, I looked up at the stars and thought, “Well at least the night sky looks nice” and then just started to try to find little things to be happy about, I saw the cashier at the gas station and thought, “Jeez, this guy must have been working all night” so I decided to make him laugh. I handed him the $20 and said, “Could you put 20 on the Blue POS outside?” and he burst into laughter saying, “He called it a piece of sh-“. and seeing that guy laugh made me feel a lot better, and then when I got back in the car, I just thought about looking at the bright side for a minute like, “Well, in less than a few hours I’ll be at home and I can take a shower.”

As soon as we rolled into Texas, this sudden rush came over me like I was home. And then when we got into Houston, I was so anxious to get home that I couldn’t remember why I was even upset in the first place. The first thing I did when I got home was text my best friend (with this prepaid phone I was using so I had to be real conservative with my minutes) that I was home (we lived in the same neighborhood) and make a time to hang out so I could tell him about this shit then run inside my house to take a fucking shower.

After that, I just started to feel happy for no reason, like just to know that things could always be worse so be grateful with what you have. As I got older, I would ask more questions though about life such as why certain things happen like where do we go when we die? No one knows what happens when we die, we just live our lives being told that we should be good in order to have a happy after-life but there are some people that believe that being alive on earth is Hell and we’re just trying to get back into Heaven. And some people even think maybe being alive and life on earth could be Heaven. And why wouldn’t it be? When you really get down to it, there is a lot of beauty in the world but because we never really get time to smell the roses or anything we think life is just shitty. I won’t give an answer in regards to my current religious beliefs because it is irrelevant, although I can tell you that I don’t want to know what happens after we die.

When we’re little children and we believe in Santa Claus or that Barney is real, it gives us this sense of wonder and excitement and when that glass case that we have all our hopes and dreams in is shattered by adulthood, we lose our innocence and find it difficult to have a reason to be happy about anything. The same could be applied in a philosophical or religious way, like what if none of this is real? Like you, the person reading this blog: How do you know you’re reading the words I’m writing and not just dreaming? Or how do you even know it’s me writing this? It is me (well, Mr. Writer) but wouldn’t that shatter other glass cases you hold close to you? Sometimes ignorance can be very bliss and we aren’t meant to know certain things cause our minds and hearts just can’t fathom. That’s why in my opinion, I just don’t want to know.

Choosing not to know for the sole reason of not being able to fully know what happens in regards to anything allows me to have this sense of wonder and continue to wonder as well as find happiness in little things like making people laugh, spending time with my friends, telling my family how much they mean to me, and being able to write my thoughts down to a small audience. So what if that is a crazy way to live your life? By that logic, I’ve proved my theory that life is indeed meaningless, but isn’t that what makes life so interesting? And dare I say, “Beautiful”?

-Mr. Writer

Written on the 27th of May at 10:45 P.M.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *