A Terrible Essay

I am a terrible writer.

I only say that because I write in a noncommittal fashion, and mostly for my own amusement. I don’t write with technique, and if it weren’t for computers, the things I had to say would be unintelligible. This is just another manifestation of my desire to express myself in as many ways as possible. Another way to purge my thoughts. Another way for me to make life more interesting before I die.

I am honored to be surrounded by many people who when asked what the answer to life, the universe, and everything is, would proudly respond, “Forty-Two.” I wonder if any of them really put any thought to what Adams might have meant by it. I think Forty-Two is fine. I think that Forty-Two is just as good an answer as any, and usually I answer that question the same way. The point is the question is more important than the answer. The journey is more important than the destination. We never get to know the question, which is appropriate because I don’t think we all get the same one.

I spent nearly 30 years of my life trying to find my purpose. I was too afraid to do anything because I was afraid it was the wrong thing. I wanted my proper destiny. The truth is there is no destiny. There is no plan for you. You are spat out and you die, and everything in the middle is just what happens. One decision is as good as another, and the future is written by the actions of the present. Stop reading your horoscopes; there are no answers. Why are we so scared of the notion of no destiny? Your life is only wasted if you didn’t try to do what you most wanted to do at any given time. Why do we search so long for purpose in an otherwise cold universe? Why are we so afraid to make our own way? Maybe it’s because if it all goes wrong, we have no one to blame but ourselves.

I for one was not afraid when I realized this. To me the idea was very liberating. All of a sudden life ceased being a search for that perfect fit, and became this awesome blank template onto which I could write the story of my life.

“Elena once shot 15 grizzly bears from a hot air balloon!”
“Really?”
“No, they wouldn’t let her on the balloon with a rifle. She had to settle for a bottle of rum and 36 hours of Duck Hunt. To hear her tell it later though you would never know the difference!”

I became a person without destiny. I replaced that search with goals and means. I purged the doubt and regret from my life, and instead learned lessons and constructed plans. I had permission to do exactly what I wanted with the time between this moment and my last without the least worry about when that will be. There are temporary fuck-ups, detours, and distractions, but there are no wrong turns or wasted time.

My terrible writing has changed as well to the essay format it once was a long time ago, replacing a general boring diary format. I will probably never know if it has any real merit. Hopefully, I’ll say something interesting on the way to those goals and means.

What are those goals and means? The means is a college education. The goal is to get drunk in interesting places. I prefer to keep it simple, the recipe for a good time.