I forgot about flying solo, just a little bit. I forgot about the deafening silence of a house inhabited by one person for days and weeks. I forgot about the circular thought patterns, the maddening stasis of it. There is no one to come home to. There is nothing to react to but yourself, no unpredictable dish in the sink, no scuttling noises in the morning. A sneeze would be welcome. How did we fill our days?
Happiness is not real unless shared. I cannot help but feel more and more that this is true. This is designed as an individualistic endeavor. It's supposed to be about me, about my identity, what I want, what I think. On the best of days I haven't the foggiest, but one thing I do know is this: I am a communal animal. My life is inevitably, inextricably tied up in the life of every other human on this planet. And we cannot live without love. Not really.
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Happiness is not real unless shared.
identity is more a process of movement and mediation than a question of roots and rootedness.
I have also been pondering the same questions, and I totally agree. Our existence is meaningless unless we have people to share it with, and identity is so fleeting that I doubt it is more than a recurring illusion. Everything is temporary, so there is really nothing to hang on to in the end.
I too agree that love is the answer.
Thanks for taking us with you! I wish you the best.
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