The will to live

If there’s something that will never stop impressing me about humans, it’s two things: our infinite stupidity, and our capacity to complain about everything. No matter how hard one tries, we humans will always find something to complain about, even if all our desires and goals are achieved. I don’t judge us, in the end, it’s easier for us to just complain about things instead of critically think about situations, craft a series of strategies in order to solve an issue, and doing constant attempts on putting said strategies into practice, so one can actually evaluate the strategies’ results in order to improve in future attempts.

It always intrigues me that people may have the necessary tools in order to solve their problems, and yet, they have no desire of solving them, like if they had a genuine desire of always living under a constant form of misery, and the worst thing is that said misery is imposed onto oneself, nobody is forcing the individual to live under suffering, and he still does it anyway, like if he obtains some sort of sick pleasure out of being in the cage he built for himself.

I won’t say that all problems may be solved, maybe people have a genuine desire of solving them, and that still won’t be enough, which is what brings us to the biggest of all questions: if we already know that our reality will never fully match our expectations, maybe even our life goals won’t be fulfilled, why bother living in this reality? What’s the true point of living? Those are the types of questions, among others, keep me awake at night, constantly thinking

I don’t think there is a definite answer to it. Many authors may expose reasons to why life is beautiful, and how to improve on yourself, but I believe that this matter in particular really can only be answered individually. The reasoning to why you want to be living in this reality depends on your thoughts, your ideas, things that one could never find in any book, the sort of lessons no school could ever teach.

During my midnight strolls, I find myself in the darkest of places, without being able to see beyond my nose, and yet, eventually, a little glimpse of light starts to become present in my life, constantly spreading through the sky, finally revealing the sun at its finest. Why do I decide to keep living? Because I have no way of knowing if I’ll ever be able to see a sunrise once my life ends. Life is always about the beauty of simplicity, of the mundane, of the imperfect.