Out
of the seven billion (or if you will rather, six billion, eight
hundred and forty million, five hundred and seven thousand) people in
this world, there is you. You breathe, you sleep, and you die. There
is no escape in that, only momentary bliss. And your demand for
happiness is characterized only by your ability and willingness to
pursue it. There is a limited number of things that genuinely make us
happy, and it is in this scarcity that its value is heightened; it is
in this manner that we determine the what and how our lives revolve
around.
However,
we run like dogs chasing tails. Our dreams are spur of the moment.
Our actions are merely the contractions of our muscles. Our purpose
is not of progress but rather of moving in and about the places we’ve
already known inside out, just so we could say we’re living. Each
of us traps ourselves in our own paradigms, where our roles are
neither exceedingly beautiful nor too horrible, but where we fit in
just right, just enough to breathe, sleep, and die.
During
these times, we work not to push the boundaries of the possibilities,
or even on the very points of our limits; we work in ways much less
than our actual capabilities. We lock ourselves inside frontiers that
were not really meant to remain stationary but to shift outward over
time. Our lives in which every ounce of effort is counted as a
capital for our development as beings begin to be senseless. There is
room for progress but not for willingness.
We
have the tendency to think that either nature will determine the
course of our lives or that others will, and that they should. We
like to believe that an invisible force dictates the motion of the
planets and the stars, that it knows best, and that resisting the
flow is setting fire to the whole system. We leave everything to
others and others leave everything to us. It is the tragedy of the
commons and we know it so well as to coin a term for it and yet,
where do we stand? Where do you stand?
“After
this, therefore because of this” may not be a pitfall after all.
Death is inevitable and held constant for every living body, but all
that happens within that dash on your epitaph is a product of every
dream, every action, and every purpose of every other being,
breathing or broken. The fallacy of holding everything else or even
anything at all at constant is our struggle to make living another
day in this world a little less lonelier than yesterday. It is our
driving force to make every moment count. It is what gives us the
ability and willingness to pursue happiness.
In
this world, there is you. You breathe, you sleep, and you die. But
you are not alone; around you are seven billion (or if you will
rather, six billion eight hundred and forty million five hundred and
seven thousand) people also searching for bliss, not to escape death
but to embrace it.