Reflections on Existence. This Week's Deep Thoughts for 14th November.

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I'll tell you what I've noticed, which is  how existence is basically a badly organised circus! I mean, here we are, floating on a rock in space, spinning around a giant ball of fire, and people still think their parking ticket is the biggest tragedy of the week. That’s existence for you: a cosmic joke with a punchline nobody asked for.

We’re told life has meaning. Really? Meaning according to who? Some guy in a robe who hasn’t had a real job since the Bronze Age? Or a politician who couldn’t organise a sandwich without three shadowy figures  in the background and a bribe? Meaning is just a word we invented to keep ourselves from screaming into the void. “Don’t worry, folks, there’s a plan!” Yes, the plan is you’re born, you pay taxes, you die, and if you’re lucky, someone remembers you had a nice lawn.

Existence is basically a waiting room. You sit around, flipping through magazines you don’t care about, waiting for your number to be called. And when it is, surprise! You’re dead. That’s the big reveal. And the magazines? They’re all ads for stuff you don’t need. “Buy this cream, it’ll make you look younger.” Younger than what? A corpse? Because that’s the finish line, No cream’s going fix that!

And people love to dress existence up with rituals. Weddings, funerals, graduations. All these ceremonies where we pretend we’re in control. “Look at us, we’re dignified, we’re civilized.” Civilized? We still kill each other over imaginary lines on a map. We still argue about which invisible man in the sky is the right one. Civilized my arse. We’re just monkeys with credit cards.

You ever think about how much time we waste worrying? Worrying about jobs, mortgages, cholesterol. Meanwhile, the universe is expanding at the speed of light. Galaxies are colliding, stars are exploding, and you’re sweating because your Wi-Fi is down. That’s existence: a cosmic demolition derby, and you’re upset you can’t stream cat videos.

And then we have “legacy.” People want to leave something behind. “I want to be remembered.” Remembered by who? The great-great-grandkids who’ll forget your name the second their phone battery dies? Legacy is just ego with a tuxedo. You don’t leave anything behind. You’re dust. Stardust if you want to be poetic, but dust all the same. And the planet doesn’t care. Earth’s been here for billions of years. It’s seen dinosaurs, meteors, ice ages. You think it’s impressed by your podcast? Not a chance.

Existence is absurd, and that’s the beauty of it. You don’t need meaning. You don’t need legacy. You just need to laugh at the whole damn mess. Because if you don’t laugh, you’ll cry, and crying doesn’t pay the rent/ mortgage. Existence is a ride. It’s loud, it’s messy, it’s unfair, and it ends without warning. So buckle up, enjoy the nonsense, and remember: the universe doesn’t owe you a damn thing. And that’s the punchline.


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