Extremely Weird, Mildly Weird, But Always Weird.

The language we use is important. Words. They carry meaning. Meaning hangs around us like a cloak, a cloud, an aroma. Earlier in my life I was greatly influenced by Samuel Beckett and the Theater of the Absurd. So yes, when I got into deep philosophical conversations I would fall back on the "absurdity of life: the conflict between the human tendency to seek inherent value and meaning in life and the human inability to find any."

It was a way to sum up life. Which isn't a very useful or meaningful thing to do, and it always seemed like a "closed door." A way of ending a conversation. I now pretty much reject that idea/label. And I wonder if Beckett really thought of his work as the theater of the absurd. I review a list of quotes and find him gnomic, Sphinx-like.

Today I can say that, yes, Life has value and meaning, even if I can't put a finger on what that value and meaning entails. It just is. I don't seek meaning, I conjure meaning for myself.

I no longer think of my life as absurd, I think of it as "weird." You know:
"involving or suggesting the supernatural; unearthly or uncanny: a weird sound; weird lights. fantastic; bizarre: a weird getup. Archaic. concerned with or controlling fate or destiny." Very much an open door. Doesn't sum up, or give an answer, leaves room for more questions.

I experience the weirdness of my life every single day. I don't find life hard, or a chore, or a job, I find it weird. Sometimes extremely weird, sometimes mildly weird, but always, always, weirdly weird.