03–05–2024
Do we crave fame, fortune, and success just to be witnessed by the world?
When I was younger, the general sentiment was to make a mark in the world, strive for greatness, and make an impact. With big big ideas and exciting exciting sciences; making discoveries that would change the scene and, in turn, the course of history. As I get older this desire has vanished completely from my field of view. Growing older feels like accepting small wins, general survival, or simply the passing of time. Our old dreams covert to mundaneness and we grieve vanishing aspirations.
Several people will never make an immediate difference. And as strong as the flap of a butterfly’s wing, I can’t help but simply find solace in assuming a cog in the system. Cyclic days, routined mornings, and resource consumption, all synced with the rise and fall of the sun. When I pass the same people every morning on the same pavement squares, I wonder if they notice me. Is there a difference between the dead and the unseen? Without a witness, we might as well be dead.
Everyone experiences their story as the main character. The internal monologue, the complex emotions and actions, the obstacles amongst pitfalls, but it is a story that will fail to be read. The best stories were probably never published and the best ideas never followed through to fruition. Every story becomes a tragedy as they are lost to time.
It is strange to inherently feel empathy for the loss of something that I never really had. My aunt recently passed away, whom I had never known outside of historic mentions. Being situated on the other side of the world, I only saw her once, for the first time, this past summer. As strangers, we saw one another, and as strangers, we proceeded. Barely sharing glances, I saw a small fickle lady with nothing in common except a familial bloodline. As such, indifference was felt at the time with no conversation. An hour’s company was the only thing we had, however, I still felt a general sadness when news of her passing reached me. Her life was not filled with happiness but with mistreatment, loneliness, injustice, solitude, and neglect, which ultimately led to insanity. Her life became a story that could only be told in the third person, to which we suffer the loss of complexity — to which the world remains indifferent. Complexity will only further morph into a simple name, and then vanish within a single generation. What deepens the misfortune is that neglect and solitude in life will only speed up in death. Did she experience happiness? Was she happy?
What amount of happiness is enough for a life to be deemed to be lived happily? I have experienced happiness, but I continue to search for it. Will there ever be a moment when it will be enough happiness in life or will the taste further fuel the greed for it? Maybe it is the order and timing of it that really matters. Someone who had had a joyous childhood but a miserable adult life would be deemed to be misfortunate and someone who peaked too early. Someone who had had a miserable childhood but a joyous adult life would be deemed to be successful in the face of adversity. It seems like a crescendo to the end would be ideal.
Accepting the absence of objective greatness is what most people will end up doing. We grow up and learn to cope with reality. We find a community, a lover, maybe make a family, where we settle for subjective success. We find witnesses to our actions and our experiences for a story that will momentarily hold till it is caught in the wind. In the vast forest of our timelines, we may never make a noise when we fall. And in the feeble nature of existence, the romance of sadness and loss will inevitably follow.
