You’re born, you live, and you die.
We all do, (although, sometimes a lot of people seem to be barely living at all).
Some philosophies may tell you that the journey is more important than the destination, or that the the journey is itself life.
Personally, I think that may be bullshit. The journey is the journey, no more, but no less.
Let us break this down. You are at home (you’re born) and you have to go somewhere (death). Your entire “life” will be spent making your way there.
Do you go there as fast as possible, limit your exposure to pain and uncomfortable ideas?
Do you go there in a sweet car, drinking, on drugs and surrounded by women, living fast and ignoring more intellectual pursuits?
Do you instead take a scenic route, walk by the canal, looking at the beautiful scenery, trying to absorb as much of the “good things” in life before you die?
Or do you stay at home, waiting for it to come to you?
There is no correct answer, and you could do any combination of these, and (almost) infinitely more.
What’s interesting is when you look at how this applies to your entire “real” life, and you superimpose the paths that others of our species take. Our (almost) infinite choice is reduced to a nebulous collection of people doing exactly the same thing, taking the same routes to death.
Why is this? Do you WANT to be a sheep?
Break out the map and compass kiddos, it’s time to explore the badlands. Let us see what lies off the well beaten paths that lead to our anonymous deaths…