The sparkling void
This morning, with my laptop on my thighs and my legs propped up on my coffee table, I typed: How do you keep writing and making art if no one really cares in the search bar.
I've typed this sentence before, made evident by the highlighted purple links strewn everywhere.
Two cups of coffee and twenty minutes of scrolling later, I happened upon an article by Mark Manson.
I've never been a huge fan of his, but I ambivalently clicked on one of his posts The Uncomfortable Truth, detailing the first chapter of his book, Everything is F**cked: A Book About Hope.
I've never been able to properly articulate my lifelong obsession/struggle and the why behind finding purpose until reading his thoughts on the matter:
When people prattle on about needing to find their “life’s purpose,” what they really mean is that it’s no longer clear to them what matters, what is a worthy use of their limited time here on earth—in short, what to hope for.
I read that paragraph again, and my brain kind of short-circuited.
I kept on reading:
Hopelessness is the root of anxiety, mental illness, and depression. It is the source of all misery and the cause of all addiction. This is not an overstatement. Chronic anxiety is a crisis of hope. It is the fear of a failed future. Depression is a crisis of hope. It is the belief in a meaningless future. Delusion, addiction, obsession—these are all the mind’s desperate and compulsive attempts at generating hope one neurotic tick or obsessive craving at a time.
Not sure if this was the exact truth/wisdom I was initially looking for this morning, but it was a provoking read. I'll no doubt be borrowing this book from the library later.
Did I find a comforting answer to my initial question? Not a one.
How cool are these Total Solar Eclipse stamps I got at the post office yesterday?
