Every time I sit down at my desk and get out my textbook and my study notes and play the Vilvaldi - Four Seasons youtube video, in preparation for some serious study timez I am suddenly struck by a disturbing, yet persistent thought - why am I doing this? Is this because I want good grades? And a good job? And a life full of riches and success? Do any of those things actually matter?
No. They don't matter. Nothing does.
The horrifying truth is that one day I will be dead, and so will everyone I know, and so will everyone they know, and so will all of their children. Even Julie Andrews will probably die one day, although I get a little bit choked up just thinking about it.
Life is full of sad realisations; there will never be another episode of Lost, you can't live off canned beetroot, herpes is forever, but none are sadder than the realisation that life is fleeting and with each second that passes we draw closer to an unavoidable and eternal non-existence.
I don't remember the first time I found out that I was going to die one day. I feel as though I might have always known. I was one of those sage-like guru babies that fly around the mountains and grant wishes to lost travelers. I just find it so strange how everyone just knows and accepts the fact that death is coming for us all. It should technically be the most traumatising news in the world. You'd think there would be more public outrage but there weirdly isn't. Maybe it's because there is no one to complain to. I like to complain to my parents. 'You can protect me from sunburn but you can't protect me from perpetual nothingness? What kind of parents are you?'
There is literally no point in doing anything ever, because once you are dead it won't matter whether you lived a life of happiness and good fortune or a lived under a bridge. It won't matter if you had lots of friends, or a family, because they will die too. It won't matter whether you were smart, or funny, or really good at knee boarding. Nothing matters. I could describe myself as a nihilist but I don't see the point in that either.
Some people manage to find meaning through a religion of some sorts. I hold a great deal of respect for those people because they possess the astounding ability to believe in something that is so obviously a complete fabrication constructed in order to deal with the deeply terrifying notion of death. I'm pretty sure that Freud compared religion to "childhood neurosis" and Freud knew what he was talking about because he was on crack.
My dad once told me to "keep my options open" vis-à-vis religion. As if when I die and it turns out there was a God all along I might be able to slip through the gates of heaven with a late admission form. I just feel as though God, being all omnipresent and so forth, would definitely catch on. And anyway I don't know if I can take advice from a man who wears socks with his sandals. My dad himself can only be described as vaguely religious at best. On his annual Christmas church visit he puts a whole $20 in the collection plate. Good one dad. As if that will make up for an entire year of complete negligence and indifference towards religion of any kind.
I guess the leitmotif of it all is that since nothing matters, I should never have to do anything that I don't want to do. Why spend even one second studying when it will all amount to nothing when you are totally dead? So put down those books, and instead spend hours staring at the ceiling in the dark contemplating the nature of existence.
It's way more fun. ???
It's way more fun. ???
