Sunday, May 2, 2010
Everyone has their own perception of mortality, no matter the degree of idealism or optimism they possess. Since the beginning of time, self-proclaimed philosophers have forced out theories and hypotheses; all those books they make you read in AP English or Introduction to Life Studies about why we’re here. About fate, about destiny, about any convoluted reason that we exist. Somewhere amidst the four centuries of the Renaissance we evolved into romantics, engulfed with the idea that humans live for love. From generation to generation since, we have inherited the incredibly impractical conception that our purpose in life is to find true love. “True” love: a coined term invented for the sake of classifying one love from another; as if one love should be more important than another. But reality nearly always contradicts what we distinguish as truth, as true, as love. Like God, love is a faith, a hope, something that we have been programmed to believe in as a justification for our existence, when in fact, there is no reason. No more reason than for a stray cat, a spider, a sewer rat, a tadpole, a goldfish. And there is no problem with that; no cause for a reconnaissance mission to discover some sort of rationale. Philosophers, they talk in circles, and the greatest aspect of their profession, unlike that of an accountant or a chemist, is that no one can prove them wrong. You cannot incorrectly answer a question that has none at all. Love, well, it isn’t forever, no matter what it seems; and we spend entirely too much time dwelling on the idea that it is. Fixated on the thought that it is singular and discriminate, when love is everywhere. We need it. We want it. We feel it. Sometimes we fear it. And other times we embrace it. But we don’t live for it. Mortality is nothing more than a timeline, and on a long enough timeline, everyone dies, everyone is forgotten. Don’t live today thinking there is only one person to take you through tomorrow. But even if you find someone that you think can, remember there will always be a next day. A next love. Another love. Like us, even the best of things don’t last forever.