The Fear of Living Without A Purpose

 I've been trying to make an effort to blog more regularly and I have a backlog of things I'd like to write. Some blogs, like this one, are more about recording memories that I'm worried somehow I'll forget in the future. It's also about recording who I am at a given point in time, I guess it's funny because sometimes I feel like the person I am today is nothing like that kid I knew in highschool, college or even when I started working. But it's all part of a continuous transformation and it's actually very interesting to remember that.

Anyway, I wanted to record a memory about how, ever since I could remember having conscious thought, I was always worried/scared about what my "purpose" was. I remember telling my parents I had a "sad feeling" as a kid (seriously) and didn't quite know how to explain it. I remember worrying a whole evening in my room about what "heaven" would be like and how to wrestle with the concept of infinity in general. What would it mean to just live in "heaven" eternally? What would people do? Would I get bored there?

Also, from a young age, I recall being worried about a lack of purpose or goal in whatever I was doing. Even back to "structures" class in kindergarten when there was no clear goal for the 30 mins because you were able to just build random shapes with wooden blocks or whatever. I literally remember crying about it because I didn't know what to fill out in the sheet we had to fill out at the end of the day or whatever. In that sense, maybe I haven't changed and maybe I'll still just searching for someone or something to give me a nice, clear purpose. Maybe those are just the circumstances under which I do best - though isn't that depressing? I will admit that even now I think I do my best work when I have a somewhat vague problem to be solved but yet there's a clear goal nonetheless. I think I have more discipline than the average person and can focus and get things done.

Anyway, the harsh truth is probably that the only meaning we can ascribe to life is the one we created ourselves. No one is going to tell us what it is because, the truth is, no one really knows (unless there's some bigger meaning to human existence like we're a simulation or an experiment) and it seems like a conclusion each individual has to determine on their own anyway.

But yeah, just wanted to record this as I thought it's an interesting memory. The point is, I don't know about others, but these struggles about purpose, meaning and infinity are clearly something I've been wrestling with since the earliest days of my life and probably for the rest of it too. But maybe that's just how it should be - maybe it would be worse to become complacent all in pursuit of some false goal set by "society" and not truly by myself.