From Hope to Nonsense: A Philosophical Journey Through Modern Existence

Where does my hope come from? What is it in me that assumes everything will be good in the end? Of what end could I possibly be thinking? To the living, the only inevitable end seems to be death. Is that the end I wonder about?

The burden of existence certainly comes from questions—questions that I have spent my life so far trying to figure out. Not the answers, mind you, but the questions themselves, which are lost to me. At times, I wonder if it's about making the most of the moments you get; at other times, I wonder if it's about making the most moments out of the time you have. Jumping the ropes of knowledge and experience, I find myself torn, wanting both sides of the coin. How such contradictions can be within the scope of reason is beyond me. Sometimes, I try my best to simply get through the day with whatever distractions I have at hand. Other times, I strive to fully attend to every minute task that I deem worthy of action throughout the day.

For my generation (by that, I mean those of us raised by the internet), finding meaning and purpose has been touted as the mantra for a good life. Among the many facets of this so-called "good life" is the power to influence. My opinions are hammered by the endless stream of quotations that flood my social media feed. The ideas that a random person can present in an engaging video take hold in my mind, even if only for a short while. The overburden of information—mostly useless to a single individual—is, I believe, what drives us to highs and lows. Of course, there's the magic hormone, dopamine, which I don’t know much about but understand drives our cravings toward various things. We now crave so much thoughtless activity that anything demanding true contemplation exhausts us to the point of burnout. I don't assume this is the case for all of us modern netizens, but some of my friends and I know this to be our living reality. Life has its inherent sufferings, which have only been made more pronounced by the restless stream of nonsense. How ironic it is that I can call it nonsense—these things that the world has cherished to engage every sense we have.

"The Scream" 

Credit: Munch, Edvard