Purposelessness of life

Just a thing I’ve been thinking about lately. People often seek the meaning or purpose of life, and, aside from creating more life and continuing to live, I’ve never been able to figure out a definite one. Is there a purpose of my life? Sometimes there definitely is. Sometimes it is a little hard to see.

But, the thing to keep in mind is that the purpose doesn’t exist anywhere outside of my, or your, mind.

I sometimes don’t have a clear idea of the purpose of my life. I sometimes think that the purpose of my life was faulty in some way and should be discarded.

But it never existed independently. It was something I decided upon at some point. Realizing that I no longer agreed with that past decision has generally been an upsetting and stressful thing, and it’s just occurred to me that it’s a bit silly to get that wound up about it.

I’ve changed my opinion about my favorite or most important book or movie or writer or band so many times that I can’t even imagine,

Why should changing an opinion about my self and my favorite or most meaningful aspect of my self be more challenging than any of those other opinions?

I am realizing more and more of what I love about kintsugi as I practice it more and contemplate it more.

Sometimes vases become prettier once I’ve hit them with a brick.

Sometimes my belief systems become prettier once I’ve hit them with a brick.

Sometimes my personality becomes prettier once I’ve hit it with a brick.

Life is delightful, and if it isn’t, hit it with a brick and glue it back together with poison and cold and see how beautiful it can become.