What does it mean to live?
You get reminded of your finite existence every now and again. The receptionist at my office was involved in a very serious accident with a drunk driver this Cinco de Mayo. Fuck that day.
It’s eerie to think we will one day cease to exist. That heartbeat is not forever and everyone you know and love will all have the same fate. It’s said humans are one of the few species in the animal kingdom to know of their fate. For that, the urge to live now and not later should be paramount.
That’s not to say everyone has the same view on life. You can spend years wandering without a clue of where to go and what life holds for you. It’s unfortunate the lives of many fall under this predicament. To live and without intent. To search without a purpose. To go day to day without meaning. Fuck that shit. It terrifies me.
Death doesn’t terrify me as much as it use to. More than likely, my close calls with the grim reaper have made me value living more than anything — pain and suffering included. It’s all a necessary evil that everyone has to face. Can a life of nothing but pleasure be one worth valuing? It doesn’t seem like a reality anyone should want. Paradise by all means is an illusion.
Once in a full moon, I tend to find myself surround by a group of friends who have their reasons for escaping from reality and into the sweet bliss alcohol and other illicit substances brings. There are many means to escapism. None I find particularly worth pursuing. I can’t partake for my own sake and safety. But it’s foolish to say we don’t connect on other levels. These guys just live in other realities below mine.