My unavoidable death seems to make life into a time-bounded game. Over the scope of eons (still a blip in the eye of the cosmos) our worries become smaller and smaller, until the simpler things turn from tired cliches into the strongest measure of my personal experience–being present, appreciating the moment, and being genuinely nice to the best of my ability.

For most of my life, I’ve focused on everything going wrong (or the potential for it to do so), wallowing in paranoia, condemnation, and exhausting vigilance. Nowadays, I focus on calibrating my perception toward solutions and good fortune, priming my subconscious to seek more of the same. In the cosmically short blip that is my life, where due to my incredibly limited senses, I can only detect a tiny fraction of greater reality, I’d like to focus on positive potential as much as I can. Eventually, maybe someone will create an existential balance sheet, weighing all pros and cons from the smallest quantum value to the largest possible scale, and definitively make the case that I should view the world as inherently cruel (or random to the point of cruelty when considering the entirety of reality). Until then, I’m fine with being a happy idiot.

Existence could be benevolent or malevolent. There’s plenty of ways to assert either possibility. When it comes to this subject, I like to keep my outlook general and vague, so I don’t stall my brain with a rat’s nest of specifics. So long as there isn’t definitive proof–an inarguable ontology that produces 100% predictability and accounts for all of causality–I’m going to happily believe in a benevolent reality. It may be unprovable, possibly objectively foolish, but for me it serves a practical purpose: instead of constantly condemning externalities or rotting in paranoia, it encourages me to trust in the long-term good, to be as present as possible, and to enjoy the moment. The idea of an underlying benevolence might be subjective, but for me, personally, it is objective enough.

Switching labels/aesthetics can be fun and novel, but I think the most important thing for me is the focus that underlies my words, plans, and justifications. Without a critical mass of positivity, I’ll subconsciously find ways to work against my aims, to make every expression a meaningless gesture that lacks the ability to align to a desirable outcome. 

When things have gone awry, I used to inwardly match the urgency of the moment. Over time, I learned that even though I might need to be outwardly frantic, I prefer to internally compose myself as fast as possible. Personally, I get there through acceptance, which may appear as resignation. ”It is what it is,” “that happened,” and other noninflammatory mental stances. Ironically, these stances allow me to exert a stronger influence; instead of being driven by reactive fear and/or anger, they settle my perception and increase the possibility I will glimpse hidden opportunities or unexpected advantages. 

Since emotions are drivers of my perception (I either can’t think of anything positive when I’m severely depressed, or it all seems futile and not worth trying; or, if I’m in a good mood, it’s hard to dwell on things that infuriate me, or I’m willing to view them as solvable challenges), I believe managing emotions and learning how mine work has practical value. 

Also, from an existential viewpoint: were we born into our short, limited lives to constantly suffer and deprive ourselves of satisfaction? Until there’s definitive, unquestionable proof (a comprehensive metaphysical account that can reliably answer if we have free will and if we do, how much we have, if we’re in a simulation, and also reconciles different levels of physics along with questions around consciousness) I’m going to believe no, that isn’t the case, and I’m here to experience internal fulfillment. Which is a much more philosophical, long-winded way of reasserting my conviction that I believe there’s value in managing my emotions. 

To partake in society, we must honor a degree of baseline consensus. But in my opinion, this has nothing to do with existential self worth. In the absence of definitive metaphysical proof, we can’t assign worth in the passage of eons and upheaval of galaxies, where over the possibly incomprehensible span of time, good triggers bad and bad leads to good. I take that to mean that my internal sense of worth, until definitively valued by an as-of-yet, unconfirmed authority that omnisciently dictates all of reality, is mine to decide for the present moment. 

Maybe I’ve fallen into a foolish state of existential trust, but I find that if I build on what I’m given, I’m given more to build with. That doesn’t mean everything has to be put to immediate use, but I do believe there’s value in releasing anger and frustration (for me it’s not so much deliberately releasing, but deliberately validating and internally allowing it and it releases on its own) at not being given what I thought I wanted. 

I’m drawn to writing because of the pleasure that arises from the act itself. There are other activities that come with transactional sacrifice–where I trade present discomfort for future gain–but they tend to become cliched and boring, so I like to use writing as a portal into synchronicity, novelty, and possible transcendence. Those may not be the stuff of life, but I have an easy time believing they’re the bedrock of existence. 

From what I’ve seen, creative expression is an amplification of perspective and belief. It can boost and uplift, invent reasons to suppress or oppress, craft a prison from an overabundance of caution, or liberate the potential in our transient lives.

Whatever path is chosen, creativity won’t be denied. But I believe that when it’s channeled into a positive outlook and positive drive, that demonstrates an implicit trust in the abundance of our existence–we can find a solution with the tools we’re given, and gift ourselves with more along the way.