It's 2 A.M.

Friday, September 18, 2020


I lay awake at night pondering over the idea that maybe this life is not meant to be any one particular thing. What if all this life is to me is what I make of it and nothing else? Life is evolution and progress, but it is also stagnant and ever-present. I am still searching for the meaning of this life. There is however one concept that continues to circle and burrow its way inside my busy mind. No matter what the meaning of life is in the wide scheme of things, I make an impact every day with each decision I make. From the moment I wake up to the second I lose temporary consciousness within a twenty-four-hour period, every single action or non-action played its part. Isn't that fascinating yet shocking?

    This is not something I think about every day because I become wrapped in the small nuances of life and find myself caught up in just focusing on how everything around me affects me instead of considering the other side of the coin. What I do does not just affect the surrounding humans, but I also leave my mark on each piece of earth and living being I touch or interact with. I do not consider myself as significant as the butterfly whose flap of the wings can induce a hurricane a thousand miles away, but there is still some form of impact. Once I think about life this way, that everything is not just about me because I am the self-proclaimed principal character of my story, the narrative changes. We are in this fishbowl together, swimming around and unable to escape, yet. With the advancement of technology, I can now alter the emotions or mood of somebody I have never met who may stumble across my online avatar or webpage and be affected by what I have typed on my monitor either in real-time or during an uninhibited bad decision at two am ten years ago. Somehow my actions are forever ingrained somewhere and their energy continues to flow in forms I do not even register. 

    Why does this thought unnerve me so much? Everything feels complicated, and I am entangled in webs of my creation. I become lost in the mazes constructed by the mind in pursuit of answering the question of how important am I? This question isn't as self-absorbed as you might think though because I am trying to unravel all the roles I should play in this life. Everything becomes further opacified with the added ideologies of religion, which provides a set of its own rules and regulations and answers a few questions but makes me ask doubly as many more. A part of me hopes there will be real justice for those who did not receive it during their time on Earth, but it makes me terrified to think about my own actions and if it is futile to consider that I am the good one. My thoughts sometimes make me question otherwise. 

    Could I find comfort in hoping I am a Sims character in someone's simulation, and nothing I do is truly within my power or grasp? Then it isn't my fault if I act a certain way and upset you because I am just a lowly puppet dangling on strings in the hands of the true master. But then I ask myself, why me? Why would someone create me this way on purpose and watch me suffer? Sure my suffering relative to yours might feel minuscule but it is my burden to bear and you cannot possibly understand my experience regardless of what you have been through. But because we have established that our suffering is different, are we still equal? Will my destiny be imposed based on my choices, or do my choices affect my fate? If the All-Knowing out there already knows what I will do and the mistakes I made, did I really have a choice in the matter? The creator of my avatar and others sure has a sadistic sense of humour, some of which I have inherited myself. This makes sense because didn't someone say they create us in the form of our creator and gave some of their characteristics as well?

    Through these endless questions, one thing clarifies. I do not understand what is going on, and I am feeling nobody else does either. This does not help me fall asleep though once the train has left the station because I am not done thinking about it. Then suddenly, one piece of the enigma makes sense. Making others happy makes me happy, and so I should try to bring a positive presence to my life as much as so that those around me feel the transfer of this energy. But then I have been trying so hard to please others around me at the cost of my own mental welfare, leaving me empty and alone. I am not one to become a self-sacrificing saint anymore, however, as long as I can create healthy boundaries of peace. This isn't very practical though because I lose these instructions in the heat of the moment. Why is it so hard for me to say no? My sisters have no trouble with this. Lucky.

    No matter what the algorithm is for this life and the reason behind it, at this point I just have to survive and try to enjoy the ride. I may not have asked to be in this world, but I sure can pick where I go from here. And there are so many places I want to go, literally and metaphorically. I am grateful that we live in a large fishbowl that is almost impossible to traverse through completely within a lifetime and within this thought; I find a certain sense of peace by the vastness of it all. In a large space, I can shrink or expand my bubble as wide as I please and incorporate things yet undiscovered. 

    I thought getting these thoughts down on my laptop in the middle of the night would help me unwind but I am coiled up even tighter while I sit here in a position unhealthy for my posture and back giggling at my apparent cleverness. But here we are. Luckily, my husband is not here to hear my loud clacking on the keyboard intermixed with my personal cackles. I have not worked for so long that I am living in a perpetual vacation as a housewife with an easygoing husband who loves his sleep and structure. I have no structure in my life since I am always expecting the wind to blow me in a different direction. Why does my husband not lay awake at night confused and questioning every aspect of his life? Why does none of this phase him at all? What frustrates me is when I look over and see him gently snoring away, dreaming of whatever he dreams of that does not include overtones of existential crises. Luckily, my friends have the same issues as me in varying degrees, therefore enabling each other to wallow in eternal pools of despair and hope.

Until Next Time,

Photo by Beth Jnr on Unsplash


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