I refuse to believe that life has no meaning.
Recently, I’ve been having debates with one of my dearest friends in which he believes there is no meaning to life.
However, I refuse to believe that nothing really matters, and that we are here for no purpose.
I refuse to believe there is no meaning to existence, and that life has no value or matter.
To me, life is beautiful. Life is magical, perfect and utterly outstanding. It is the most precious gift we are ever given, and each is so unique and special. It is filled with so many surprises, so much joy and so much grace. Life gives us the chance to do miraculous things, see the most beautiful sites and do the most wonderful things.
Though it is one of the few topics in which I am very close minded, I believe there has to be a meaning to life, and will not give up on this.
I have to believe in living for a reason, because what would I live for otherwise?
Why would life be so fascinating, so mysterious and so complex if it was there for the sake of it?
Why would the world be filled with such breath-taking sights and people if there was no need for it?
Surely, if the world only existed for some small coincidence, everything would be grey, boring and uninteresting. There would be no need for the frilly extras.
Maybe I’m totally wrong, maybe my friend is right. Maybe there is no point to life and the only purpose for our existence is to reproduce.
Maybe I need to live in my own ignorance, my very own Plato’s cave, and believe the world I see is true, and that there is a purpose.
If this is the case, I need to be naive, or I will never be happy.
I must have a purpose; a meaning. I have to know I’m making a difference or what would be the point?
I would much rather be blissfully oblivious to the truth than have my eyes opened and be broken by the reality of our existence.
That way, I will know that I lived my life as a happy woman, and made my own life have a purpose.