Does the realisation that life is inherently meaningless liberate or imprison you? I suppose it’s a subjective matter, but in my eyes, it manages to somehow do both. How can you possibly decipher how to lead a fulfilling life when the possibilities and opportunities in front of you are simultaneously infinite and irrelevant? 

Thinking about the inconsequentiality of my existence often takes up hours of my time, and quite often I struggle to think about anything else. They say that ignorance is bliss, and I’m inclined to believe them, although where you draw the line between ignorance and enlightenment is anybody’s guess. 

Sometimes my thoughts feel like a pressure behind the eyes that only subsides when I write, which is an awful shame for those of you that have to read it. 

I have created an entire philosophy around living purposefully and beautifully, and I have crafted habits and routines that aim to elevate my everyday existence beyond the mundanity of modern life, yet earlier this evening I found myself thinking about what it is I want from life, and all I could think of was a good job or a nice house, so tight is the grip of our hyperactive, consumerist culture. 

Are possessions and belongings not irrelevant if one can learn to find beauty in ordinariness? Apparently not if you tune in to my inner monologue, although I would definitely caution you against doing that, for your own sanity if nothing else. Yet not five minutes after trying to find the meaning of life in a place I know it can not be found, I sit typing this whilst listening to Waltz in B minor, Op. 69 No. 2 and looking at the trees outside my window swaying in the breeze, and I can only describe my view as beautiful. 

So what can we learn? Simplicity of thought is key, beauty is everywhere, capitalism is a sham, and we should all pay less attention to what we’re told to desire and more attention to what we really desire.