My Ladybug Enlightenment

Tonight I found myself lost.

I was deep in thought, desperate to make sense of a rather dry book on Existentialism.  Suddenly a ladybug landed in the middle of the text I couldn’t decode for the life of me.

This ladybug didn’t mean much to me at first; it simply annoyed me.  I brushed it away, sighed and returned to my studies in nothingness, absurdity, despair.

You know, the fun stuff.

A few pages later, my mind drifting, it hit me: I don’t know what I believe in.  I have no philosophy to call my own.

What am I, after all?  The sum total of every book I’ve read?  All the music I’ve consumed?  Movies I’ve seen?  Teachers I’ve had?

Sure, these things (and people) have shaped me, but what thoughts are wholly mine, what way of life have I devised for myself?

I undervalued the significance of this winged creature–my wakeup call.  One thing’s clear, though: Tonight there’s a ladybug on my bookcase that knows as much about Existentialism as I do.

Grays Matter

My father told me that the man who, when alone, can keep his mind busy with great ideas, is wise beyond measure.  He also said that different views on the same subject should be laid side by side, and that countering concepts can reside in a single mind.

I’ll admit that these lofty ideals didn’t affect me much when I first heard them.  Over the years, though, I’ve begun to understand what my dad meant.  In some of my darkest moments, times when I’ve felt totally lost and alone, I turned to art, which professes by its mere presence that there’s no Answer, only questions rife with possibilities.

Music, literature, movies, TV shows–various forms of expression that remind me of the complexity of existence–this is my salvation on earth.  Life’s not all black and white, the adage goes, and I agree.

For me grays matter.