As people, occupying roughly the same areas and doing similar things, we all look similar in may respects. Our actions, interests and outgoings differentiate and define us. As only one passenger on one train leaving one particular station at a the same time each day for a specific destination the world can quickly begin to feel small. Billions of us bustle about, talk, smile, interact, eat, work, cry, make friends, loose friends, visit family or avoid them, break, get fixed, live and die all in a blur around us and yet we are supremely concerned with the welfare of a select few.
I believe it is impossible to truly comprehend the scale off human existence, let alone the vast universe that surrounds us. Whilst there may be approximately 7000000000 humans on earth, what comprehension do you have that value? When have you ever seen 7 billion of anything? It is a small number in relative terms. There are far more insects around us, atoms that make us or grains of sand in the earth beneath us. Just because that is so does not make the number any less significant.
I enjoy reveling in the insignificance of singular human existence. When a person ceases to exist, their family mourns their loss and their friends greave but in the grand scheme of things life doesn't blink and the world revolves about its centre of mass regardless. Some people find this to be a depressing line of thought but for me it is inspiring. I know that, whilst the difference I can make to other peoples' lives may be vanishingly small by comparison to events on a broader scale, the difference can have impact and meaning regardless of size.
It also makes our position a unique one, at least as far as our current knowledge shows. Our world seems vast but pales in comparison to its surroundings. The irreversible damage being done might look superficial to us now but what is to come for this beautiful earth we rest upon is truly terrifying. "Facts are true, whether or not you believe them" and this for me rings clearly throughout the ill-informed doubt and idiotic denial that poisons the public sphere of understanding on climate change. Realization will bloom to late, and our chance will likely have gone and our earth with it.
Of late, I have been struggling to find purpose in my undertakings. After a life full of variety, stress, companionship, intrigue, learning, challenges, diversity and outright madness at university, I have taken my first steps into the adult world. I was convinced I would never suffer the same fate many do; becoming stuck in the monotonous rut of pay-check living and weekend wishes. I enjoy my job but live for the weekend. I have hobbies but have committed to little and feel as though I contribute to nothing. I have no metric of progress or passion for success. Days pass, weeks end and I feel as though I have accomplished nothing. This is, in no small part as result of my seemingly constant affliction with some sort of injury preventing me from training and running races.
I believed I was capable of simply switching my focus elsewhere and feeling satisfied with other endeavours but as with many things it is rarely that simple. I've been collecting and listening to new vinyl, tracking down and savouring new beers, researching and practising my painting, reading more and yet everything seems to be half-baked and lacklustre. Despite my desire for success my subconscious is manifestly unmotivated, content to vegetate infront of the television making a vague attempt to process the vacuous crap it emits.
Maybe I expect too much of myself. Maybe I shouldn't try to be more than what is so easy to be. I do know, however, that I am not done trying yet. Here's to dragging my sorry, internally absorbed motivation out of the tepid shallows of selfpity and resentment in which it currently resides, shaking it off and giving my one attempt at a young life a bloody good go.
Here's to more days like the picture below, with my best friends.