When Does It Get Good?
Life isn't a perpetual grind to "someday."
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When Does It Get Good?
This might be the generational trauma talking, but what’s the point of anything? When’s the last time you asked, because I’ve asked recently—and the answer has lost its bubbles. I’m talking about the reasoning we give to anything we do, and where we learned to do that at all. Why does life feel like it’s always lived in service of something else? Do well in school, not so that you’ll enjoy school, but so that you can get accepted into more school later. Get a good job and work yourself to tatters, not so that you can be happy for eight (sorry 12) hours of every single day, but so that you’ll be able to afford to stop working someday too far in the future to fathom. Wear sunscreen now, and sure it’ll prevent a burn, but what it really prevents, ladies, are wrinkles. Ok fine that one tracks.
I’m wondering what the point is, because I don’t think the point is a lifetime of chasing carrots we never catch. Or chasing carrots for so long that by the time you actually catch them, they’ve rotted. So often I’ve seen live-in-the moment creatures portrayed as hedonistic time and money wasters, as the ones who need to “get their act together.” But now I think their reputation might be an intentional spin caused by other people’s jealousy. I think people who enjoy being alive every day might be onto something.