Let’s start with the question I ask myself a lot of the time: what happens when we die?
Can’t answer me? Don’t worry, I never expected you to. Quite frankly, I’m afraid of the answer, even if the answer is something I want to hear. Knowing the truth isn’t always the best medicine for wonder, as I’m sure you’re aware, but then again, what are we gunning for?
I know that I’m not the only person who is afraid of the end, and to be honest, I question those who aren’t. Fear is what drive us to do things, to live and love, to help others. Fear of failing, fear of falling, and fear of rejection is what give us the motivation to keep on pushing until we can’t do no more.
Sometimes I wonder if the easiest option would be to eradicate the possibility of a depressed life. I mean, the end is ultimately the same regardless of how it occurs, right? Then again, that’s a selfish though. I’d be robbing myself of the possible riches life has to offer. Not only that, but I’m skipping the chance of making something of this life, like starting a family and making someone else happy. Isn’t that more important?
As usual, I’m rambling, but this all makes sense to me, even though I sometimes question my own thoughts and sanity. Death is an art in the form of sorrow, but life is a gift that we were all lucky enough to be given. The chances of an individual being born is one out of the masses. Taking that away seems a waste, even if the life is nothing more than a bleak horizon.