How do soldiers put everything they've got in fighting the wars some suited donkey gapes started?
How do firefighters rush in to save people from burning buildings?
How do teachers keep teaching dumb people for minimum wage?
How do soccer players run 90 minutes on the pitch, trying to win with all they've got?
How do world leaders send threats to each other through twitter continuously?
How do my parents fight about the same old stuff again and again every day?
How does anybody do anything?
How do I keep on writing this book knowing that the chances of it becoming something that'll actually feed me belly is lower than my chances of getting laid before I turn thirty. (Both are extremely low, like terrifyingly low.)
Where has this passion for doing certain things in our lives come from?
Such dedication we all have towards things that we've stumbled upon by accident. A priest trying to guide people and telling them that Jesus will save them, like he's got everything figured out. So sure that Jesus can save people, that you wonder how he's built up this faith. Like a shade of doubt has never crept into him? How do we know the thing we are doing is the thing we should be doing? We could be doing anything at the moment and we chose this particular life with all of its problems. But why?
Why does a teacher love his students or why is a crazy cat lady crazy about cats?
Maybe we are searching for things to love and cherish, and after stumbling upon a few we just get tired and settle, and we can't keep looking cause nothing guarantees that our efforts will pay off. Then we keep on moving forward with what we've already got, a few good years passing on and you're 5 years through your education, when you just then realize this ain't truly what you want! But you're all too tired to change that.
However achingly random your hobby or passion might be, if one were to take that away from you, what else could you possibly possess? So you clutch it to your chest, as if it were your babe, just so you can look at it and say I've done all the things in my life for different things, all my efforts have been for something. The thought of spending 50 some years doing nothing of no real significance terrifies you. And after a while you start to even deny questioning why you do certain things.
Caught up with a minimum wage job when what you really wanted to do was to go and make a reservation in the fanciest restaurant in the town, but then you start to remember that you have to pay rent and you have nowhere to go but a place where everyone knows your name and your face.
The bar welcomes you, its old friend in its hands. Indulges you in its booze so you once again, forget what you learned about the universe and get the strength to do what you love (Is love just settlement?) for another day.
(TO BE CONTINUED)
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Non-FictionWho knows how to think anymore? Or even what to think? With all the confusion around me, I decided to grab a pen and just let it run
