October 13, 2007

I don’t really know, in any meaningful way, how I got here. I don’t know if I can know the answer to that in any meaningful way. I don’t know if I should care. One way or the other. I don’t know what I’m writing.

Funny how a narrative of life doesn’t really exist. There is no story connecting one moment to the next. But we’re all writing our own historical fiction: embellishing some parts, fabricating others, and leaving certain pieces out all-together. And then we look back on it all like some special thread wove it all together.

What fools we are. But perhaps we have no choice. Perhaps the narrative gets us through the day. Finds us meaning in life, instead of the meaning of life. Even an atheist can see that. Even this atheist can see that.

– 14 April 2007

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