The goal of life.
“Is an idea of the future or desired result that a person or a group of people envision, plan, and commit to achieve. People endeavor to reach goals within a finite time by setting deadlines.” — Wikipedia
“I don’t know what my goal is in life.” — Me
“Does life have a goal?” — Me
“I want to live a healthy life. One that isn’t full of pain. I think that’s a goal right?” — Also, Me, having this conversation with myself.
Maybe the goal of it all isn’t to find happiness. But to escape from as much pain as possible. Because within everything we do, there will be challenges, illnesses, pain, and uncertainty.
It’s what comes with being a conscious existence on this planet. A human existence. So if the pain is inherent within our reality, much more so than happiness, then maybe our goal is to live a life with the least pain possible, be it mental or physical.
Like microscopic fish, swimming against a cosmic current. This starry sludge doesn’t drown, no, it only but reminds us of the fickle nature of our existence. That at any moment, everything can and will change. Or worse, not change at all.
And before you know it, it feels like all we can do is swim towards it, forward, in the current of time and space, searching for something. A goal. A meaning. That can make the pain on meaninglessness go away.
Even as the celestial current weathers us, makes us sick, melts our bones, skin, and youth piece by piece, we move forward. Because it’s all we can seem to do.
All we (I) can seem to do.
Maybe that’s the goal.
To just keep moving forward.
Despite the sickness, despite the depression, despite the unfairness, despite the death, despite the sickness, despite the anger, despite the crisis, despite the perceived cruelness of it all.
I think that’s a good goal for now.