Tired

I’m not quite sure what life has become the longer I’ve lived it. There are all the words I can use to describe it: complicated; senseless; painful; hard; and at the end of the day, just goddamn tiring. But I’m not quite sure I know what it really is anymore. I know it’s always been this way, but I used to be too young and blind to see it. But blind is the real key there. Because as a child, you inherently believe that the value of finishing work and accomplishing goals is that you then have nothing to do, and everyone above you reaffirms this idea. They tell you to finish your homework first, and then you can play or laze around all you like. They tell you to work hard in school so you won’t have to later, so you can find a cushy job and sharpen pencils sunup to sundown until you retire and live out the rest of your days dying by time wasted. We are taught to idealize this idea of separating our livings from our lives. We are taught to think in terms of trading time hated for time cherished. But at the ends of the days we hate, do we cherish the time left? Or do we simply spend it trying to forget that it all starts over tomorrow?

And some of us do realize the trap being set for us, and we jump to the path less travelled. The path of more work but more reward, the path of laboring for love. We realize that the value of life is in giving your time and energy to something you love rather than using useless garbage and wasted hours to fill that pit within you that craves meaning.

But life is anything but kind to the wise. Life is best fit to the foolish majority. For doing work for causes that matter, what do you receive but empty thanks and an emptier stomach? For caring, who cares for you but no one? It’s funny, really. It’s like an economist giving money to a dog. What will he do but rip it apart? The dog doesn’t care. He doesn’t understand. Wisdom is wasted on the wise who have nothing to do with it but suffer under its weight, just as it’s wasted on the foolish who will not understand until it bites them as it does the wise. It’s wisdom’s way: to tell us too late what can only help those who won’t listen. But I digress far too far and drift too long gone into the abstract.

Life lived as others would have it lived is a pointless struggle to do things you hate so that someday you can die doing nothing. Life lived with purpose is an unending fight to better the world, but it’s just as, if not more, exhausting. There’s no real conclusive point here. In summary, I suppose my message is just, goddamn, I’m tired.

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