I have been doing some serious contemplating over what to post on the final days of the year. Should I foretell what I would like to do for 2014? No. Because there is a 99.9% chance that I wont do it. I just set myself up for failure and end up looking like an ass who can’t accomplish anything. So that is out. I could tell all of you the great things this blog has done, but if you really wanted to know, you could enter a stalker status and mindlessly search every post and just find that information for yourself. I could tell you all the things I have done this year, but again, stalker status initiated. It is sometimes straining on what to post here. I feel that this blog has no clear direction. I post pictures more than I write. However, I do love pictures. I do love to post pieces that have some sort of direction or fine moral point. It makes me feel better about my lost direction with this blog, to give the readers a little something to ponder.
To begin this tale, I start with this. I have written about some mental issues before. If you have forgotten that post or somehow repressed it, here it is. I still struggle, as I always will and will not be afraid to tell people it is okay to struggle. It was recently that I was asked a question. It was deep and full of questions that may never have been answered. At the time, I did not have one. I had to give it plenty of thought. The answer came to late one night. It was as if I had known all along the answer, but no clear way to portray my thought at the time. This is almost always the case with me. It is finding the perfect words to win a fight after it is over. I call this piece, A Life Worth Fighting
I was asked this – Why should we press on another day? What is the point?
This is my answer:
For as long as I can remember, I have thought of death. I have imagined myself dying and the details of how I would proceed. They were and are only thoughts. Fantasies that would never see the light. But still they were there. Often years would pass before another snuck into a dark tunnel, burying itself, hiding, lying in wait for the right moment to appear. I am still plagued with such fantasies. Visions of jumping onto a bed of jagged rocks, throwing myself from a car, drowning in a pool of shallow water.
I asked myself over and over for the meaning of life. What dragged me to another day? Was there a purpose for licking at the air once more? I am born, I live, and die. Why should I prolong this agonizing process?
Not only have I wrecked havoc on my mind with these questions, but I have been asked the same by others. What is our purpose if not to prolong a species determined to keep us:
B) to watch us all suffer.
For many years, I never had an answer. I scraped for an explanation, but never found it. That is what we want, isn’t it. The right answer. To suddenly wake up and realize what this is all for, hoping we aren’t just useless piles of cells.
Mankind has often done more harm than good. We waste and become wasted. We consume and often never give back. We become selfish, narcissistic, and full of hate. It is only a small percentage that have given something wonderful to a world of ugliness and perhaps it was in this analysis that I found the answer. Not the right answer, perhaps, but one that left me satisfied.
The object of life is not to live, but to make something of the life you have. Let me explain.
When I think of death and what it could give me, I think of tomorrow. I can do many things. Things that I dream of while asleep and envision while awake. I cannot take these visions with me. I cannot take material items. I cannot take the people I love. These thoughts, these realities make death a warm piece of pie ready to be devoured.
It is the easy way out. I’ve always been a fighter. The whole idea seems ironic. Here I sit writing my thoughts about the delicious taste of death, but on another plate is a serving of cold relentlessness.
That is my answer for why we should keep going. It is the meaning to life’s ominous question. Fight. If you don’t, what would this all be for. If you won’t fight, then don’t bother.
You don’t know what each day holds. It is the most cliché term, but it is the truth. An undeniable logic. Tomorrow you, I, we could do something so amazing that future generations would remember the actions and the names of those who spoke, wrote, or made history. It is what I hope. A deep desire I have always wanted. A passion that has superseded all fantasies of death. I do not know how or when, but that is the illusion of it all. To wake another day and envision a life worth living. A life worth living after your time of death, for others to look upon and know exactly why they should do the same.
Live this life. Make your mark in the world so others will become inspired to do the same. Become someone who is never at a loss for words. Words that give, love, hold conviction, embrace, and make their entrance into the hearts and souls of others. Always fight.
Have a beautiful New Year.
Man’s real life is happy, chiefly because he is ever expecting that it soon will be so. – Edgar Allan Poe