Where The Trail Begins

Today, I finally went for a hike. I’d been putting it off for some time with various excuses—too early, too cold, or because I’d already gone to the gym. Now it seems I made too much fuss over nothing. That’s how it usually feels to me after completing a task.

The truth is, once you go beyond survival and mating games, inactivity creeps in. Personally, it didn’t help much that I became a nihilist before ending my teenage, realizing most things don’t matter in the larger cosmic context. A heavy dose of corroding idealism only worsened the situation.

All actions seem empty and pointless. All decisions feel arbitrary and ineffective.

However, some deep desires still continue to flourish.

On the hiking trail, I found myself wishing for an encounter with a leopard. I secretly hoped to see a weary and anxious (but hopefully not hungry) leopard. Far from its natural habitat, its sense of displacement might have mirrored something in my own journey.

And yet, as I feel tired and sleepy, I recall Hitchens’s stark reminder of the silence and indifference of the universe:

To the dumb question "Why me?" the cosmos barely bothers to return the reply: why not?

But perhaps it is this indifference — this mechanical and mysterious nature of the universe—that makes it interesting. It also gives the impression that it’s somewhat knowable, keeping us on our toes and actively searching for answers.

Should we be content with simply being glorified conscious matter, aware of “being here”? Or, as Camus suggests, should we strive to make our existence more palpable by going beyond the “normal” course of life and doing something more heroic, defying the absurdity of life?

Not sure. I should probably take a nap.