There are people who take their lives. There are people that leave us too early. There are people who failed at everything, and freezes until death takes them in winter, under a dirty, much too thin blanket. Tragedies for sure.
But won’t we all surely face our own tragedy?
At the end of the road lies some form of terror. Some form of inhumane torture awaits.
How many of us will have their souls ripped to shreds by dementia, until nothing still remains?
How many of us will gasp after air, as if underwater, panicking as the perfectly good air just won’t suffice?
How many of us will get to hear that we have cancer, and it’s terminal. Then live the last days knowing that the seconds are ticking away, one by one. But as time goes by, pain appears from nowhere, growing and increasing in intensity. Ending life bathing in a mix of agony and numbing drugs.
Is any end better than any other?
I am not sure. I’m not sure that it matters that you were successful in life, that you had millions in the bank. People thought you were a success. Or a failure.
It crumbles to dust.
You helped people. And those people lived on to meet their own torturous ends later.
Isn’t it liberating?
The meaning of all this meaninglessness might be for you do actually do what you want, without holding back. What does the judgement of others mean, when your faced with boundless certain misery, whichever path you go?
Why put up with it. Why wait? Who cares if you end up on the side of the road. The only way this journey can be worth it, knowing what’s in store, is if you walk the steps that you want to walk.
Every single step is one where you can embrace the present, and build a counter-weight for the tragedy to come.
Do that which will make it all worth it.