I've kinda been hating my life, so I haven't felt like writing.

When I think about life and death, I think about how I've done a lot of fun and interesting things in my life- things that were fun and interesting for <i>me</i>, but that's not enough. It can never be enough for me. No matter how much fun I have or how much I learn, it will always be the case that I HAVEN'T DONE ENOUGH if I haven't brought out as much of myself as I can, and given as much of myself as I can to the world that I love. All of the fun and all of the learning will disappear when I die. They will evaporate immediately and cease to have any meaning when I cease to regard them.

It's a little sickening, if you think about it- the idea that a person can live an entire human life from start to finish, gathering all kinds of fascinating experience and information, and that it will simply be dumped in the event of expiration. The only thing that redeems this condition is that you can do something, that you can share with the world, and what you share can make a difference: in the lives of the people you love, in the ongoing practices that you participated in and hopefully contributed something significant to, in the greater appreciation for life and the world that someone has because you were there to show them something beautiful.

Of course, all of this great contribution to the world is just as meaningless as the gigamegaterabytes of data that are cast into the void when a person's life ends, if it is never enjoyed, and this enjoyment of life is just as essential (or more, depending on the weight you like to give to things) to its being lived meaningfully as what is produced by it. Concerns for the moment and for the future are complementary here, rather than being bitter rivals.

Maybe the sexiest thing I've ever said is, "You shouldn't be missed." I said it to someone I managed never to be jealous over. I remembered the light she had brought into my life and I thought of what...

I've kinda been hating my life, so I haven't felt like writing.

When I think about life and death, I think about how I've done a lot of fun and interesting things in my life- things that were fun and interesting for <i>me</i>, but that's not enough. It can never be enough for me. No matter how much fun I have or how much I learn, it will always be the case that I HAVEN'T DONE ENOUGH if I haven't brought out as much of myself as I can, and given as much of myself as I can to the world that I love. All of the fun and all of the learning will disappear when I die. They will evaporate immediately and cease to have any meaning when I cease to regard them.

It's a little sickening, if you think about it- the idea that a person can live an entire human life from start to finish, gathering all kinds of fascinating experience and information, and that it will simply be dumped in the event of expiration. The only thing that redeems this condition is that you can do something, that you can share with the world, and what you share can make a difference: in the lives of the people you love, in the ongoing practices that you participated in and hopefully contributed something significant to, in the greater appreciation for life and the world that someone has because you were there to show them something beautiful.

Of course, all of this great contribution to the world is just as meaningless as the gigamegaterabytes of data that are cast into the void when a person's life ends, if it is never enjoyed, and this enjoyment of life is just as essential (or more, depending on the weight you like to give to things) to its being lived meaningfully as what is produced by it. Concerns for the moment and for the future are complementary here, rather than being bitter rivals.

Maybe the sexiest thing I've ever said is, "You shouldn't be missed." I said it to someone I managed never to be jealous over. I remembered the light she had brought into my life and I thought of what a shame it would be if that light were dimmed to the world. I wanted her to be appreciated, by someone. On Halloween I remembered saying this to her, and as I played Boingo, loud, and made last minute preparations for giving kids a big happy dose of tooth decay, I suddenly remembered what I'm like at my best and I realized that I am being missed. I shouldn't be missed, but I'm not doing what it takes to be enjoyed.