I’m constantly in a state of half awareness. I mean, I know where I am, but I never quite know what I’m doing there. I’m somewhat like a moth or beetle fluttering around a lamp and thinking it’s the moon guiding me home. Sometimes, I think it would be nice to feel a purpose as others propose to think they have – sometimes I think I do. It’s that thing you feel when suddenly the whole world around you feels connected and every single atom composing your being seems indistinguishable from those around you. I have become such a cynic within my skepticism that, sometimes, I feel I’m denying myself the simple pleasure of feeling like I belong. Though, part of that is true – that the atomic particles we are composed of have influence on those nearby – it has yet to be established that any sense of connection we have with the world and each other is anything more than the firing of millions of synapses in our brains. It would be nice to feel like I have more reason to exist than existence itself. However, when looking at the alternatives, the many beliefs that cloud our judgements, and deceive our reality, I suddenly realize the consequence of such an appeal to that sort of thinking. I think life has meaning in itself. I am alive, I want to have a purpose, I could assign purpose to myself, therefore I have purpose. This seems so rudimentary as a foundation as I’m sure many have provided much more sufficient reasons and appeals to the purpose of our existence, but it is simply enough for me. My conscious mind is a self-contained system; to describe it as anything more would add a layer of complexity that is wholly unnecessary. So it seems that, for now, it would be easy to accept my own purpose for my own individual existence. But what becomes of my self-ascribed purpose when I’m dead? If my purpose is my own, would it not follow that it would also cease when I do? Here becomes the crux of the problem. If I once had a purpose and now I don’t, would I have ever of had a purpose in the first place? If death is the end of my existence, why would life ever really matter? If even the universe itself will end, what is the purpose of it all? This would be applicable only if one assumes a purpose must be eternal. Time itself is not eternal or infinite, but it would be hard to argue that time does not have purpose. Then, there is the issue of having to be conscious, and even sentient, in order to reflect on that purpose. A cave, or rock, river, or plant all could have purpose and they are not, in the least, cognizant of it. I’m not proposing much. Well, maybe I am. I just feel that life is so much more interesting when it could have meaning and purpose even if we have to assign it ourselves. After all, who else is watching us? Looking at life as a mundane routine fails to motivate. I’m trying to look at my life as something just a bit more important than I previously thought it was. I’m hoping it will help me make better decisions and follow through with my desires.