"There seems to be a kind of order in the universe, in the movement of the stars and the turning of the earth and the changing of the seasons, and even in the cycle of human life. But human life itself is almost pure chaos." --Katherine Anne Porter
Every day is crazier than the next, but we never give up. This amazes me. How did we end up on this planet? How do we get through every day without knowing what the meaning of life is? Do we even know what we're living for? I honestly don't know what the significance of my existence is - don't get me wrong, I don't mean this in the self-pitying I'm-a-useless-displacement-of-air kind of way, I mean I really see no real reason why humans exist at all, other than the simple cause and effect of a scientific miracle. And yet despite the fact that our entire race emerged out of a sheer accident, each one of us wakes up every morning to go to school or go to work, to get an education and to make money. Each one of us expends countless thoughts on plans for the future, blueprints of our dreams. Each one of us spends our high school lives working to get into college, our college lives working to get a job, and our careers working to get money, and use this money on our children so that they can do the same all over again. I'm not trying to be dismal; I don't think our lives are pointless. I guess I just find our daily scramble to be strangely amazing. We struggle to keep going even when we don't know where we're headed. Whether the sun is rising or setting, we chase the horizon until we run out of breath. Why?
