Growing up, I kept wondering about it: What's my purpose in this big world?
I began to neglect this restless itch of curiosity when my paradigm shifted and expanded and made me realize I had failed to address the more essential question: Does a purpose exist at all?
This world is magnificently big. Yet it is entirely a pale blue dot.
If the existence of this world appears incidental and purposeless on the cosmic scale, then what more of the existences of the mere humans who live on that speck of dust?
How promising and bleak this world is. Already, so many memories of here that I cherish. So many thoughts about here that I wonder.
This world unceasingly dispenses experiences and experiences;
it overwhelms me.
Whenever I become happy, I will always get sad, knowing that nothing lasts forever. 4.5 billion years old and still, like all things, this world shall have to meet its end.
Living in a cyclic state of tasting bittersweetness.
How should I cope with this?
To live simply with love and compassion for the momentary but precious things here on this planet, covered with the blues.