More post-pubescentality

Last night I was reflecting on the meaning of life, something I hadn’t done in quite awhile, as I walked along the railroad tracks (Seriously, I was walking along railroad tracks thinking about the meaning of life – go figure). It’s amazing how much things can make sense in retrospect, and how little things seem to ever make sense in the present. Those that know me, know I like to philosophize, but I generally try and avoid making any general existential claims. In fact, I’ve been living according to the same basic assumption since early junior high. Those that knew me then may even remember it: “Life sux. Live with it.” In recent years I’ve refrained from bringing it up, I’m quite a bit more positive than I used to be; nonetheless, whenever things get tough and I start reminiscing, my mind wonders back to that foundation and it cheers me up, if only for its naivity. The statement originates from my former reasoning that there was little reason to exist, but you’d might as well not kill yourself – everyone wanted to kill themselves in junior high. By itself, it only makes sense intuitively, but yesterday I think I finally articulated it to myself logically. Basically there is no obvious, concrete, universal, objective reason to go on living – we all had this much figured out then – but likewise, there’s no obvious, concrete, universal, objective reason to kill yourself either. It’s kind of an absurd situation, life that is. I’m not saying this sorts anything out, I’m just saying I’ve made sense of something I thought once. Where do I go from here? It follows that I should probably go on living, but unafraid of death. Existence is… well… it’s existing. Nothing more, nothing less.