I am reading a book about the meaning of life. (Totally unrelated to the Monty Python movie.)
And you know what? I don’t think that there is just one answer to that question. For that matter, I don’t think that all questions necessarily have an answer.
I find that life has to sneak up on me when I least expect it and whatever it brings to me in that amazing moment is as close as I will ever get to an answer.
Once in a while, I think what an astonishing thing it is to even be alive. Millions of sperm fought and heroically swam themselves to death for the privilege to be me or you. One made it against outrageous odds and viola here we are. You and I are one in a 30 million shot and yet here we sit and stare at the wall, watch the world go by, dreaming of supper in four hours, and musing about what is the deal with Simon Cowell.
Meaning to life? I don’t know, but I definitely “feel” it is something. Don’t you?