It wasn’t that she was an utter failure. From the outside she looked fairly, well, common. Nothing magnificent about her. And yet she also had a lot going for her. She wasn’t born ugly or poor or disabled. In so many ways the Universe had been generous to her. And she tried to remind herself of this fact whenever she lost perspective. It was so hard not to get bogged down in the drudgery of the day to day grind. What’s it all for, she wondered. What is the purpose? I work a job I don't like, to earn money to pay for things I need, then I buy things I don’t need, to anesthetize myself from the reality that I am no more important than the rote and menial tasks I perform in my tiny little life--just another cog to keep the wheel turning. You hear about people living their dreams. Finding wealth and happiness, fame and fortune. The lucky few. We glamorize and glorify these people, worship them like gods, striving to be like them. If only I were more like Bill Gates or Steve Jobs or Brad Pitt or Angelina Jolie or any other person we decide is better or more fulfilled than us. And maybe they are, in some ways. But how long does their anesthesia last, until they too will do anything to remain numb to the harsh realities of life? They can just afford more glamorous means to their own demise. They won’t die in a crack house, but at their own hand, whether by overdose or suicide or pickled liver. The anesthesia is the same, it just comes in different forms. We are all failures on some level. And we’re all just wondering what the point of it all is. Some look to a higher power, the promise of a better life after this one. Others worship money or fame or sex or drugs. But we’re all just trying to find enlightenment.
