I work and I commute and I sleep. This is the bulk of my life. And the people around me seem to feel that this is some milestone of which I should be proud. I do not dislike my work most of the time, some of the time it is even fulfilling. I am able to read during my commute, meaning that my commute too is not unpleasant. This being the case, why am I complaining? And about what am I complaining?
I am complaining about this- there is no reason, there is no purpose, there is no point. If I died now, no great work would apparently go unfinished. If I died know it would be on some great
quest or some worthwhile endeavor.
I would leave behind only the waste that my body has excreted, some art, and a little bit of writing here and there.
And there in lies the problem.
Or there in lies the lack of a problem- to be more specific.
I have no great struggle and no great great. Almost nobody in my generation does. And that being the case, is it any wonder that we don't care? Is it any wonder that we will cheer the most ludicrous struggle- witness sports, witness reality television contests, witness video games, witness professional video game tournaments. We want something to struggle over and when that is denied to us, we will desperately grasp a struggle by proxy.
This current world has taken away our glory and our quest. There is no reason to care, and so we don't. Why would anyone want to save the world? That doesn't mean trekking into the dark heart of South America to discover a secret ritual, or flying into satellite orbit to stop a space ray, or even questing alone into the woods to face a solitary vigil, or anything worth doing. Saving the world means putting your empties in a BLUE BIN! Saving the world means switching light bulb brands! Why should we care! Where is the nobility of the cause? Where is the value?
Life needs more purpose and more value and a hell of a lot more drama, because me and my generation are collectively sleepwalking through our lives and something has to give.
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