Hashtag Deep.

(Pretty raw, awkward feelings.)

I hope some of you get the Bo Burnham reference there. The only way I think I’ve made it so far in life is being able to laugh at my pessimistic self.

I have a hard time seeing the positive things in my own life. Ask me about anything. The sky, the trees, the neighbors. I could go on endlessly on the beauty of each and every thing. Talk to me about someone who’s done something awful, and I could probably still find sympathy for them. (Minus those who hurt children. That’s unforgivable to me.)

And yet, when it comes to my own value towards my life. I don’t really have any. Of course I have my days of optimism. But most days it’s a lot of work and a lot of digging to find things that make me believe I’m here for a reason.

Tonight is a hard night for me to find reason. As we all face eventually, I’ve been thinking about my parents getting older. Of course, they aren’t going anywhere soon! But I pick up on the medical issues they face, and the fact that my dad was wearing an elbow brace today doing yard work during my visit.

And in these moments I realize. We’re born. We shuffle through. We die. That’s how I feel most days. Of course we have our “lifes” accomplishments. But in all honesty, when I think of the things I hope to do with my life, they aren’t doing anything for anyone besides myself. And a life like that, it’s not very meaningful to me.

I’m not working towards a cure for anything horrific. I’m not solving world hunger. I won’t bring about world peace. Yeah, I guess I’ll give myself enough credit that I probably helped influence others for the best. But it seems very insignificant to me.

A human life seems like the most fake form of existence to me. Of course I enjoy every luxury I have, but yet, I find myself wishing a lot that I was born more towards the start of man-kind. Back when we were like every other living thing, working for our survival.

It seems now we drift about aimlessly in a sea of people. Hardly remember faces let alone names. We for granted almost everything. We work for money instead of life. We believe that money is the source of life. We’re afraid to be without structure and support.

I always say, “If you hate things that much, change it.” But here I am, too scared to change anything. Perhaps I’m just like everyone else. I only want to live the way that I’m not. I want what I can’t have. And if I had that, I’d want it another way.

Life is a confusing thing to me. A human life anyway. And the worst thing is, I have no choice but endure it. To smile and be happy that I lived. Even though I haven’t the first clue what living actually feels like.

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