Back to the Beginning

The past two months have been filled with change.

From building good routines to spending time with people, a lot has happened.

More than this, though, was a buzz of hope. Everything became almost effortless - excitement and positivity raised me up, and for a time I felt good. Not satisfied, not complete, but where I should be. I thought I had found a niche I could carve myself into. A person I could become.

Then, my emptiness crept back up on me and any semblance of meaning was torn away. Objectively, I should be happy. Now more than ever, I have what so many others fail to achieve. Stability, community, and wealth were all handed to me with relative ease.

So now what? Where do I go from here? Why do I yearn for a greater meaning, and why do I, yet again, feel so empty?

I had a great chat with one of my friends. The best in a while. We sat by the beach as the light faded to black. Our dreams lay out before us, and we shared our perspectives on the future. We’re shockingly similar, it seems. Though I think that about most everyone I meet. As we sat there, our conversation went something like this:

In every story, there is an ending. A thematic conclusion, not always beautiful nor satisfying, but carrying purpose nonetheless. A man learns to value his family, an expedition leads to tragedy, turmoil follows this slice of life.

But this is the limitation of art. Creating it takes purpose and imbues it with meaning. Meaningless art cannot exist, as long as another person with hopes, dreams, experiences, and thoughts holds the brush¹. And while we live in a world of stories, we ourselves do not live within them. We do not see the grand design, nor are ever afforded a thematic conclusion.

It is our burden to never be satisfied, then.