Lately I’ve been thinking about death: it happens to all of us, it’s something normal, it will happen to me, I could even die tomorrow. Even if I don’t want it, I will die, like everyone else. I’m not exceptional just for being me. No matter how many gods I invent, no matter how many opportunistic preachers I pay because they promise to save me.
I’m just a monkey among 8 billion monkeys, I’m insignificant. Nothing wrong with that. It is what it is.
My life so far: take the path of least resistance. I have a job I don’t like much but I do it good enough so I don’t get fired, I enjoy cooking, fishing, poetry and drawing, hobbies that are cheap. I don’t need to keep up with the joneses.
There seems to be a perception that somebody like me is a loser, lazy, somebody who fails to live up to his potential, maybe I should try to do something exceptional with my finite time on earth, leave a legacy…
But that doesn’t appeal to me. After I die I won’t feel nothing, nor will I care about a legacy, so what’s the point?
Did realizing your time on earth is finite change how you see life?
Feel free to point out if this is me being depressed or if I need to snap out of my misanthropy, as somebody put it. I don’t consider myself depressed but after seeing and reading what humans do to other humans I don’t trust the better angels of our nature can make the world a better place.
I was misdiagnosed with a terminal disease and the biggest thing that got me was how petty people’s problems and squabbles and concerns really are. Like when people throw a fit because they couldn’t order the exact thing they wanted or whatever. Just get a grip, calm down, it doesn’t matter at all. There are people in the room with you who won’t be here in a few months and you look like the biggest toddler of all time to them.