Everything
Dec. 7th, 2010 01:04 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cloudy_oneAs I type these words they lose power and meaning. If I were to write them down the same would happen. If I were to speak them aloud, again. What I find is that as I look back at my journal entries, they come off as pretentious and I don't particular enjoy reading them. I'm embarrassed to have written them. I am dramatic, perhaps even "emo." I almost want to get angry when I look at the crud I've written. I realize, however, that while I'm writing them, this entry included, my words are as real to me as the meaning behind them. There is nothing that matters more than the emotion and the thoughts that go into my writing. When someone is going through a rough patch in their life and others see it as petty or ridiculous ("my boyfriend broke up with me again!") it is real enough to them for them to put their lives on it. It provokes tears, it provokes shakes, it provokes powerful emotion. Maybe no one else is intended to understand. As with dreams, rarely do people care what you dreamed about, even if that dream "changed your life forever." That doesn't alter the fact that your life has been profoundly changed. In that way I suppose this sort of self-expression is a way to release things, because they don't stay in the words, at least not to me. I don't feel the same things when I re-read. Likely, you don't feel the same things I do, if anything at all, when reading my wordy entries.
With those same thoughts I was reminded of a passage from The Martian Chronicles (Ray Bradbury). In it, it is explained that life only seems to question itself when in the midst of being unsure, in a bad situation. During war, during depression, during uncertainty we question what the meaning of life is. When we're at the movies, in bed with our lover, camping in the middle of no place, these questions don't come up. Life is it's own answer; living is the meaning of life. I wish things were more concrete. 42 maybe? But I don't think it is. If I die after writing this, it is the greatest tragedy for someone; but for many it doesn't matter a bit. Does that make living pointless, no, but it doesn't make dying pointless either. It's all part of the same process. *end existential crisis*
With those same thoughts I was reminded of a passage from The Martian Chronicles (Ray Bradbury). In it, it is explained that life only seems to question itself when in the midst of being unsure, in a bad situation. During war, during depression, during uncertainty we question what the meaning of life is. When we're at the movies, in bed with our lover, camping in the middle of no place, these questions don't come up. Life is it's own answer; living is the meaning of life. I wish things were more concrete. 42 maybe? But I don't think it is. If I die after writing this, it is the greatest tragedy for someone; but for many it doesn't matter a bit. Does that make living pointless, no, but it doesn't make dying pointless either. It's all part of the same process. *end existential crisis*
