The rain drops beat down on my grey umbrella. Porter and I balanced on the edge of a one-hundred-foot cliff, peering down at the crashing waves. Down below, the shore was vacant. A fog settled in around us, complimenting the already grey, dismal day. It wasn’t a beach day, nonetheless, we were there.
After about twenty minutes, we fled and took refuge under a cypress-tress fortress. Sparse raindrops slipped inside of our spacious dry camp. We hunkered down on a moist log, waiting for an opening. A black crow swooped in as well, ceaselessly chirping away about the foul weather. I glanced back at him and agreed; We were all in this together.
It’s been raining in San Francisco for the past few days. Glimpses of sunshine crack through sporadically, but all in all, the weather has been dreary. Coincidentally, my internal feelings mirror my outside surroundings. Apathy lingers, with the occasional glimmer of inspiration galvanizing myself for a short while. I rather be frustrated, but unfortunately, I lean towards indifference.
The crux of my indifference might rest in my unclear message. What am I trying to say? For instance, I’ve been hovering around a hour-and-a-half trying to compile words, hoping to spur out some meaning. I mean, everything needs some type of practical or even divine meaning, right? Like how my knapsack carries belongings or how the activist fights for a cause: both serve an existential purpose.
And this existential beast has been clawing at me. I’ve teetered through this existential crisis for months, grasping for any type of purpose. Because a man, especially with this evolved level of consciousness, needs to have some type of purpose, right? I scream, “I MUST BE USEFUL!” It appears that everyone on social media possesses some type of purpose now, whether it’s just them flaunting in front of a mirror, encouraging followers to workout because you should want a healthy figure as well. Or it’s the oversupply of self-help books scattered across the internet and book stores, guiding you on how to discover your purpose–most importantly, written by someone whose purpose is to help you locate your purpose.
My viewpoint might be labeled as cynical or disgruntled, but I’m discerning through the bullshit which another generation is being fed. It’s akin to the American Dream illusion that was portrayed in the 70’s and 80’s, except layered with a “positive vibes” undertone. All in all, they’re still trying to sell you meaning for your life. Our society is driven on productivity and efficiency: every action must have purpose.
It’s time to abandon this “provide meaning” mindset with the rest of the barrels of necessities imposed upon us. I’m not advocating a hedonistic lifestyle to run amok and go sought after new highs, but at the same time, go ahead. Moreover, this post doesn’t serve as a nihilistic public service announcement, proclaiming that nothing in life matters. Rather, what I am attempting to compose is that not everything in life needs to matter. Allow your weekdays to be chaotic, your breakfast items to be contrasting, and your written stories to serve no point. Go to the beach when it pours and buy that one meatball dish from your local Vietnamese restaurant. If you make it to the next day without hypothermia or food poisoning, that alone provides enough meaning to celebrate. Forget the lofty goals of purpose, you’re already doing it–you’re living another day.