It's all about trying to be unique, isn't it? All of us with our little niches, our little peculiarities, eccentricities, peccadilloes, fetishes, phobias, nuances, schools-of-thought.

All trying to be different.
Individual.

Trying hard to convince ourselves that our life, our existence matters. That things will be different if we go on struggling, and fighting, and surviving. The brave underdog, the lone fighter, to the last-man-standing. Don't give up, fight, scrape....survive, survive, survive!

Shite.

Nothing matters. Everything that can be, has been, and even if something hasn't, it won't affect a damn thing in the wider world. There are no new emotions, no new events, no new thoughts.

Including these words.

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So you go two ways -
give up on the world, ambition, dreams, obligations. Decide it's pointless going through a treadmill that's been worn out over millions of years. And probably, end your life.

Or, learn not to care anymore. Not on a conscious, front-of-brain way, but in a deeper, underlying background. It doesn't matter - so why care? Sickness, poverty, death, broken friendships, betrayed love - it doesn't matter. It's all going to end one day, either with your death, or with the end of the world, or the collapse of the Universe.

Oh you still drool over a lovely dessert, or frown at litterbugs, or yell when your team wins. But there's a part of you that stands quietly against the doorframe, with the faintest twitch of a tolerant smile, knowing you're just hiding from the truth. You see the world through two eyes, and think two thoughts. Always.

You stop searching for 'higher goals', and 'ultimate purposes', and the 'why'. And just....exist.

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Trying to make sense of life is pointless. It's not some manufactured creation, which should be expected to follow rules. People are stupid because they are. Horrible things happen because they do. There's no sense, no underlying meaning to it all - everything just... is. And we just are.

And oddly enough, that makes it easier to live life.