The Harshness of Life

Last Saturday I legitimately felt as if I don't want to live anymore. Luckily I was still strong enough to know that the only reasonable way to commit suicide would be to time travel back to the point where my parents met and simply mess up their relationship before my mom's pregnancy and my birth. But that's highly hypothetical.

Practically, coming home to a flat full of people also did the trick of lifting my mood back up a bit, but not permanently. I won't explain the reasons for my ruminations on time travel suicide but it's a recurring feeling.

It usually comes with a strong sense that life has not evolved for the purpose of human happiness, that quite on the opposite, life doesn't give a shit about the feelings of living beings, other than their function for guiding their actions towards survival and reproduction. That's why we enjoy eating or sex. Yes, it's a sophisticated system that we're carrying around in our skulls, but at this moment in time, it seems as if it's creating more suffering than joy.

Today I walked through the forest during a storm and with a bit of humour I thought to myself that the risk of being hit by a falling tree is actually also a chance to set an end to this misery.

In the end, we can chose how we want to live our lives, and there are many great resources to help us do so, but suicide is rarely an option.

Arthur Lee put it a bit more bluntly:

No matter how good it sometimes feels to fantasize about simply not being alive, there is still plenty of good potential in every single of our lives. It's all about how we feel inside ourselves and whether we are willing to take on the challenge of transforming ourselves and our lives. One song that reflects that particularly well comes from 1980, from one of my favourite soul-funk-duos: