And what am I doing here
Sitting in the springtime chill of the ocean breeze as it ripples the water in the bay, the sun sparkling as it cycles and moves without going anywhere. The birds’ peeps and trills are delightful decorations, while my favorite type of music plays, “Take me to your river, I want to go.” What am I doing here, blessed with comfort and luxury that cannot be fully absorbed knowing that my loved ones and so many others are drenched in sadness, illness, violence and hopelessness? What more can I do to acknowledge my privilege, deserved or not, for who decides what it means to deserve something? Do we have to suffer to earn comfort? Do those who have not suffered deserve less than those who have? Would suffering more make me feel better about my wonderful life? Do I believe that every sadness helps justify my happiness? Do I seek out suffering for this justification? What am I doing here if I don’t contemplate this existence, the value I bring to the world and if that even matters? Will I say, at the end, what was I doing here? And will that be enough?
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