Bucket list

What is it we are chasing? What is it we truly desire?

Why is it we suffer so frequently over nothing at all?

How is it we take life (and especially ourselves) so friggin’ seriously?

When does the time come in a person’s life when he (or she) realizes it’s all a trick, a game, a dangling (synthetic) carrot?

When does one get to the point where nothing matters except one’s own contentment, one’s own mental stability, and therefore one’s own happiness (in the deepest, truest, most realistic sense of the word/concept)?

When does one learn to let go both of one’s past (memories) and of one’s image of what the future may bring (imagination) and just be in the present moment, the now, the real, content merely with existing?

Why is it that the more independent and honest we become, the fewer friends and lovers we end up having?

How can one be both true to oneself and also a part of the world, of conformist, illogical, and often unhealthy rules of ssssociety (“And I never knew her last name”)?

When do the questions stop containing questions and

settle in to the 

acceptance 

of 

whatever 

is

April 9, 2024

15:15

Tully's Coffee