One of the most burdensome thoughts is the fact that everyday is the first of the rest of your life. How often do we say that to ourselves? How often do we get out of bed in the morning thinking today we are newborns, but only a day older? The idea that everything we have experienced is only just a memory, and we call it the past; what makes it any different than a fantasy? Every single second, reality has been renewed, and many things in the universe have changed. Every single second, the universe grows way larger, and there you are, grown a bit older. Lucidly put, there is no past—the future is all that is left for you. This is where the worthlessness of reliving the past comes in; this is where we realize the worthlessness of explaining a past event—a memory; for in that moment of now we could be experiencing life anew. By the same token comes the contemplation that we are star-stuff; that just as much as the past is nonexistent, the future has its terminal point. Lucidly put, it places us in a spot where life is enclosing in on us through time.
And as we observe ourselves being enveloped by time, we are struck by a “what now?” moment. Now, life hints that it has not set you an ultimate, well-defined purpose, that “we are star-stuff, we are a way for the universe to know itself.” Maybe the burden of being conscious beings is no burden at all; perhaps it is an opportunity for us to capture and reproduce beauty. We go so hard on ourselves to try to make it somewhere that we forget how beautiful the journey is. We focus on certain phenomena so much that we forget the big picture; and when the big picture is mentioned, we dismiss it, by undervaluing it in contrast with our big concerns.
Perhaps our purpose is to take advantage of every now and of our consciousness by discovering the underlying secrets of the cosmos buried deep within every single one of us, by asserting our position as the frontal lobes of the universe. Hence the noble efforts of those who still live among us today in our books and in our references, the enormous efforts of capturing and explaining life and its beauty. Perhaps this lack of ultimate purpose sets us a purpose that drives us more than ever; that assigns our desire to colonize the universe, our desire to hold the world in words and gaze at a sunset that renders us as “butterflies who flutter for a day and think it’s forever.” We’re like fire that needs more heat, conscious beings that want more of life, and more of now.
We are filled with the desire to feel more. The desire to feel more than just sexual intercourse, the desire to feel more than just happy; we thrive to burn, not to just feel warmth.
When I am struck by a beautiful sunset with awe, it renders me a little sad, not just because of its ephemeral nature, but also more explicitly because of my desire to feel more of it, because of my desire to hold it tight and hug it in the most literal meaning.
Profit well of every “now” moment by blooming out the child in you that craves discovery; because if you don’t do that often, and you follow your big concerns and dismiss the big picture, you will wind up someday in your midlife thinking “what now?” again. If you don’t, you will find yourself contemplating on your past—on the memory of the maze-like journey that led you to feelings of nothingness, to the illusion that you have been cheated on by life. There are some walls in that maze that are worth breaking, and scenes behind them that are worth plunging in, no matter how lost you feel you are.
Indulge in that moment of “now” where you don’t have to beat the clock and attempt to live it all, because you cannot live it all, unless you can only live fully, now.