What is the purpose of my life? - this is a question I have been thinking a lot about.
The superfluousness of my life has become readily apparent to me these last few weeks.
Tomorrow I will head to the office, work my 9-5 for minimum wage doing mostly uninspiring, unproductive, and extremely tedious work.
Why?
You "work to live" according to most self-help websites. Since my work is neither valuable to the world nor to me personally but only insofar as it makes someone else wealthier, and the wage I earn makes it impossible to "live" if living means anything more than to exist, the logical conclusion is that I make someone else wealthier so that I may exist. This doesn't answer the question as to why I exist.
I have several interests and hobbies I enjoy: reading (I've read 52 nonfiction books in 2019 so far), book reviewing, etc.
Why?
I have no friends, family, followers, etc. that care about what I have read. Neither do I have any practical application for the knowledge I acquire through reading, making the knowledge I have useless. What use is knowledge if it serves neither me nor humanity?
This afternoon, I was sitting on our couch, staring off into space. It occurred to me that I was simply waiting for the inevitable - work.
Is that the purpose of my life? To wait until the inevitable, i.e., death? |
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