When I’m unhappy, I feel like I’m doing life wrong. I’d rather be happy. But is happiness the point of life, or is there more to it? If I pursue happiness, mine first then for those around me, is that selfish? But if there’s a bigger purpose, then what about people with Alzheimer’s or dementia who can’t recall recent experiences or make plans?
If only life were that interesting. Sadly, we’re just insignificant specs of stardust living meaningless, pointless lives for a finite amount of years and then disappear from existence.