“To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all.” – Oscar Wilde
People spend their entire existence trying to make their lives meaningful, to reach fame that makes them one of “the greats.” This turns into a cycle of inflicting a meaningless punishment upon themselves.
Existing is as easy as living but overcomplicated by the constant need for individuality. To be a human is to compete, a competition that urges you to meet a certain quota to call your existence, “life.” In reality, to live is just to fluctuate. There is no meaning to life. The moment you define it is when you limit it.
I used to roll my eyes when I thought about these deep philosophical quotes, how people fall into naivety to feel comfort in empty lies. But I know words, I know writing, I know that feeling isn’t fact, but I can’t help but feel. The more I ran away from self-examination and emotion, the harder it was to explain the things around me. I couldn’t help but realize that pathos and logos share sides of the same coin.
I remember reading Oscar Wilde’s poetry and plays and stopping at the quote above. I fell in love with the idea that you could somehow trap all the words in the world into a sentence that describes something as nuanced as life while critiquing the gratification-based society that continues to unfold. I could spend the rest of my existence only living in brief fragments. All I can do is try to sew those fragments together.
C’est la vie.