I love feeling busy. I enjoy the feeling of having things to do, places to see, and things to learn. But when I’m not doing something, I feel myself become sadder, more melancholy. I think about the fragility of life, the hard dirt that will bury us, and how we will all someday be forgotten.
And I wonder if being busy is just how we all distract ourselves from the truth that we like to ignore. The truth that our lives mean nothing, that the universe feels nothing, and that our society is spun around a fiction we see as reality.
Maybe life is a distraction from the coldness of the universe.