Applause For Guts.

It is a notion that tugs at the underpinnings of our existence. We are humans, the zenith of creation. This still doesn't amount to very much. Hardly ever do we yield to the limits of our perception. When was the last time you considered just what a small blip on the radar humankind has been in the grand scheme of this planet's existence? To steal a quote from Ishmael by Daniel Quinn, "The Middle Ages never thought they were the Middle Ages." The Middle Ages thought they were the zenith. Just as we do now.

I suppose we look away from the ephemeral nature of our existence collectively and individually because it calls into question the importance of everything we do. Why would we persist if we constantly maintained this lens of impermanence? Most of us likely wouldn't. 

Alan Watts finally concluded in The Book that there is no point to living. Before you despair, he goes on to say it is this pointlessness which grants us the freedom to do as we  please. Therefore, life is a game; a game meant to be played well. We can ascribe any sort of meaning we like to this existence. This is finally what differentiates you as a human from the cow idly chewing grass. You can like whatever you choose to like. You can detest whatever you please, and at the end of the day you don't even have to have a reason for it.

And this is another taut underpinning which may visit us all eventually; some more than once: life may in fact have no meaning at all. This would be a viable reason for why some have objectively searched for a meaning to life and never found an objective answer. There is no objective answer, yet there are myriad subjective answers. This refers back to the above paragraph: there may be no meaning to life aside from what meaning you apply to it.

If you've read this far along, you may feel like this entry is entirely negative, when in fact it isn't. You see, there is a certain amount of courage, a necessary severity of guts which one must have to live purposefully in an otherwise idle existence. When you come into this world with no particular purpose and you later reach an enlightened enough state to realize this entire song and dance is nothing more than a means of occupying our time and you still persist to live meaningfully in a way that is true to you, THAT is courage. THAT is guts. If you have emerged from the depression that comes with feeling marginalized by your own enlightenment and you can still live with vigor, then I applaud you.

Why do we do anything?

I don't have many exceptional talents. I can draw just fine, and write in a poignant fashion if only for short bursts. My vocabulary is above average, if that matters. What I can do, for better or worse, is see through the facades put forth daily. When someone smiles to me I can very well see the residual sadness behind it. When someone strides by me and replies to me that they are "doing well" I can only survey the recklessness of their gait and their clenched fists and deduce otherwise. This works to my advantage when interacting with people on a daily basis, but it can be tiring as you may imagine. Words hold little value, and if you look hard enough, you can see someone's true intentions in actions and in body language.

Time to come back from the deep end. I hate thrusters.

Yesterday's torture:

21 - 15 - 9 reps of the following:

Barbell thrusters (95#)

Burpees

Pull-ups

Plank rows (45# dumbbells)

Walking hurts.