Effect

I've been aware for a significant while now that life is completely and utterly pointless.  I don't believe in a deity or an afterlife, I do not believe in trends of reincarnation, I am not believer of karma or much of anything for that matter.  It's easier for me to think of things I don't believe than things I do.  That's the sort of person I've always been...more or less skeptical and rather detached.  Perhaps that's why existentialism initially appealed to me.  It threw out the necessity of a meaning for life and allowed one to just be. 

The problem with just being, though, is that it's meaningless and pointless and gives one absolutely no reason to live.  So what am I to make of that?  I don't believe in an inherent reason to live, but nor do I want to continue this pointless trend of existence.  For that reason, this has been a question that has plagued me for a significant while.  Why should I? 

The answer isn't simple or particularly logical.  I can't say I've really found a concrete one yet, either.  I've had thoughts ranging from why not? to because I can to might as well make the most of it.  And I'm still living rather in the balance between all of those and more, although I guess the last one describes it most accurately of the three. Really, the way I see it is that I've got this one life, x number of years.  While I'm here, I might as well enjoy it, might as well make something of it, might as well do something, anything.

I guess that's where people come in.  People interest me.  I can't say I particularly like them, I rather dislike the majority.  However, there are people whose company I enjoy and people I actually care about (believe it or not).  Those are the people I'm willing to put in effort for.  The vast majority of the world's population can be making stupid decisions and throwing away their lives all they want, I won't give a damn.  When people I'm close to start doing that...then it's an entirely different story.  Then I care. 

The thing is, I know that life is impermanent.  It ends.  No questions about it (my lack of belief in an afterlife makes that pretty clear).  And I know that I won't be remembered, probably not even by the people I was close to.  I'm a terrible person to attempt conversations with.  I'm not the least bit interesting, and I don't much like idle chatter.  That's probably part of being an introvert and probably why I have comparatively few friends, but I don't mind. 

I used to always believe I was really bad at dealing with people, too.  I didn't know how to comfort anybody.  I had no idea what to do or say when someone was upset.  That's probably one of the most significant ways in which the past two years have really changed me.  I've started to understand that all you really have to do is care about someone, and that in itself will get you 90% of the way there.  I still don't really know per se what to do when people are upset, but for some reason, they come to me.  And then it doesn't matter if I know or not, what matters is what I do.


[As an aside, I just realized how inconsistent the train of thought is here, please bear with me and I may or may not be able to get it straightened out suitably enough to be understood.] 

I can't say that I do much to help, either.  I'm just there when people need me.  It's not a special skill, it's not something you need to learn how to do, it's really not that complicated.  Which is why I'm so easily replaceable.  If I'm not there to listen to someone, they'll find someone else.  If I can't be their shoulder to cry on, they will make their way to another.  I'm not one for monumental actions or life-altering events.  And that's why I'll be so simply forgotten.  I've come to terms with that.  I don't mind it. 

But the fact remains that I'm still here for now, and will be for however many days, weeks, months, or years more.  In that time, I'm not going to change the world, I can't say I particularly want to, either.  I'm not going to change lives in any way that anybody else couldn't.  But while I'm here, I might as well make it count for something.  I might as well be the one to listen, the shoulder to cry on, because I care, because I can, and because I might as well be doing something useful because I have nothing else better to do.

I'm fairly certain that this post still doesn't make any sense.  I don't really care.  I write for myself, anyway.  Maybe one day I'll find something brilliant in these pages and pages of writing I've committed myself to.  Maybe I won't.  Once again, it doesn't much matter.  I know this sentiment isn't unique, I know it's not the first time I've mentioned it, and that's just fine.  I wanted to put something down in writing, and this is what was on my mind.  Simple as that.