i watch the world, and the world, unbeknownst of my existence and curiosities, watches no one. it carries on with the steadiness of someone who knows where they’re going while i stumble backwards and forwards.
it occurs to me that perhaps we are all nothing but passing thoughts to the world and the universe. we are, for the larger picture, completely insignificant. what is one missing thread in such a large and complex fabric? or perhaps the fabric is so complex one thread is important enough?
there are, however, smaller things in life that are, perhaps, worth it. our experience is insignificant to the universe, perhaps even to god. but we are crucial in the lives of those around us. to be someone’s first love, to love, to care—that is where we find the significance of life. to create art, to witness beauty. love and creation, even if by accident, are the two most central elements of the human experience.
but I’m not talking about the romantic, idealized love in romantic movies. think of the love that cares and gives. the actions we do and the things we partake in for the ones we love.
paradoxically enough, it can be excruciatingly hard to love ourselves. although these days i think i have found my own self-love through love others. it’s a beautiful thing, to be loved, and to be capable of loving. and for this alone, perhaps, i am worthy of being loved.
life is a continuous succession of arriving and continuing