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Sometimes it’s hard to get yourself heard.
Sometimes it’s even hard to find a voice to tell the world what you have to say.
I suppose finding a voice is akin to finding the meaning of life. There becomes a point where all the events and happenings of our lives are stories to be told, and it is in telling those stories that we become immortalised. Standing the test of time in tale after tale, filling the wide-eyes of grandchildren with wonderment and disbelief. When it boils down to it don’t we all want the same thing? To be remembered. An annual minutes silence, a memorial statue in a city square, a plaque on a bench in a park would suffice. Death doesn’t frighten me, not yet. If I could die but be remembered then everything would be all right. I would die in body but be kept alive by memory. It is if my memory dies that I am truly lost, as though I never even existed. Dragged down deep under the waves of life with a purpose erased.
I guess the fear of death sets in eventually though. Ever wonder why the congregation of any given church is made up of old people? You could attribute it to the fact that people are suffering millennial angst and shunning religion more and more. Yes, perhaps that is partly true, but lets not take that diversion this time. Perhaps it is because the old people, in their youth, were young and care-free atheists, but when they realised they were going to die pretty soon they changed their mind, repented, and make one last attempt to save themselves before it is too late. At least if there is no afterlife, no reincarnation and you just rot in the ground then at least they get a nice funeral and a gravestone with their name embossed into it.
I think perhaps old people also think they deserve a second chance. Perhaps they want to achieve something in their lives. To die with a smug little grin on their face knowing the time they had was spent wisely. No, darning socks doesn’t constitute as wise. As a species we are procrastinators. We wait for something glorious to come to us. We sometimes even have the vague illusions that we are deserving of something. Life owes us a debt of gratitude for living it. As soon as we realise this is faux the better. If we want to achieve we have to get up and grab what we can. Perhaps I sound like a motivational speaker hired by some hapless boss to make his staff “fulfil their potential”, but then again they drive home in BMWs after they’ve said their piece.
I’d hate this to be a philosophy of a 14-year-old who thinks he has so much experience of the world and nobody can hurt as much as they do because they’re in love and the other person just hasn’t realised it yet. Truth be told I was probably like that, but I’d like to feel I’ve matured from that into someone with a semi-valid opinion of life. From my observations people will sit back and let life take its course and then panic when they realise they’ve got another 20 years left at the most and have done absolutely nothing with their time. Their life a short and generic slideshow of mortgage, career, spouse, children, retirement; capped off with a highlights reel of a holiday to Majorca.
Finding a voice and telling your stories can come later, when you’re wearing beige trousers and sat in an armchair with a grandchild on your lap. As for now, make sure you have something worth telling when the time comes.
Sometimes it’s even hard to find a voice to tell the world what you have to say.
I suppose finding a voice is akin to finding the meaning of life. There becomes a point where all the events and happenings of our lives are stories to be told, and it is in telling those stories that we become immortalised. Standing the test of time in tale after tale, filling the wide-eyes of grandchildren with wonderment and disbelief. When it boils down to it don’t we all want the same thing? To be remembered. An annual minutes silence, a memorial statue in a city square, a plaque on a bench in a park would suffice. Death doesn’t frighten me, not yet. If I could die but be remembered then everything would be all right. I would die in body but be kept alive by memory. It is if my memory dies that I am truly lost, as though I never even existed. Dragged down deep under the waves of life with a purpose erased.
I guess the fear of death sets in eventually though. Ever wonder why the congregation of any given church is made up of old people? You could attribute it to the fact that people are suffering millennial angst and shunning religion more and more. Yes, perhaps that is partly true, but lets not take that diversion this time. Perhaps it is because the old people, in their youth, were young and care-free atheists, but when they realised they were going to die pretty soon they changed their mind, repented, and make one last attempt to save themselves before it is too late. At least if there is no afterlife, no reincarnation and you just rot in the ground then at least they get a nice funeral and a gravestone with their name embossed into it.
I think perhaps old people also think they deserve a second chance. Perhaps they want to achieve something in their lives. To die with a smug little grin on their face knowing the time they had was spent wisely. No, darning socks doesn’t constitute as wise. As a species we are procrastinators. We wait for something glorious to come to us. We sometimes even have the vague illusions that we are deserving of something. Life owes us a debt of gratitude for living it. As soon as we realise this is faux the better. If we want to achieve we have to get up and grab what we can. Perhaps I sound like a motivational speaker hired by some hapless boss to make his staff “fulfil their potential”, but then again they drive home in BMWs after they’ve said their piece.
I’d hate this to be a philosophy of a 14-year-old who thinks he has so much experience of the world and nobody can hurt as much as they do because they’re in love and the other person just hasn’t realised it yet. Truth be told I was probably like that, but I’d like to feel I’ve matured from that into someone with a semi-valid opinion of life. From my observations people will sit back and let life take its course and then panic when they realise they’ve got another 20 years left at the most and have done absolutely nothing with their time. Their life a short and generic slideshow of mortgage, career, spouse, children, retirement; capped off with a highlights reel of a holiday to Majorca.
Finding a voice and telling your stories can come later, when you’re wearing beige trousers and sat in an armchair with a grandchild on your lap. As for now, make sure you have something worth telling when the time comes.
That's fairly interesting.
I've been told that the older you get, the more aware you are of your mortality. I know that I am compared to when I was younger.
Although I get the impression that most old church goers I that know of have been going all their life, perhaps this newer sense of mortality can make some older people more religious.
I've been told that the older you get, the more aware you are of your mortality. I know that I am compared to when I was younger.
Although I get the impression that most old church goers I that know of have been going all their life, perhaps this newer sense of mortality can make some older people more religious.
until you climb an electric fence.
Ignorance is bliss.
Some kind of equilibrium where it mattered what you did without having to sell your soul to fiction would be nice, wouldnt it?
The dilema of religeon: If you believe and it IS real you go to heaven (basicly, I know its more complicated than that), and youre happy.
if its NOT real then it doesnt matter that you wasted your life cos youre DEAD.
if its NOT real then it doesnt matter that you wasted your life cos youre DEAD.
Pandaemonium wrote:
> Depends really on whether you have anything important to say
> ............
Paradox: wrote:
> As for now, make sure you have something worth telling when
> the time comes.
> Depends really on whether you have anything important to say
> ............
Paradox: wrote:
> As for now, make sure you have something worth telling when
> the time comes.
Paradox: wrote:
> Sometimes it’s hard to get yourself heard.
>
> Sometimes it’s even hard to find a voice to tell the world what you
> have to say.
Depends really on whether you have anything important to say ............
> Sometimes it’s hard to get yourself heard.
>
> Sometimes it’s even hard to find a voice to tell the world what you
> have to say.
Depends really on whether you have anything important to say ............
I too have wondered about the old people starting to go to church through fear of death. I guess, like almost everyone, that deep down they don't want to die, and think this is their last chance.
As for being heard, I've never really thought about it a great deal. I honestly don't think that dieing without countrywide recognition would bother me at all. Obviously it'd be nice, but it wouldn't hurt if I didn't have it. After all, what's gunna happen to me after I'm dead? I probably won't be able to even see how people are mourning my passing anyway.
As for being heard, I've never really thought about it a great deal. I honestly don't think that dieing without countrywide recognition would bother me at all. Obviously it'd be nice, but it wouldn't hurt if I didn't have it. After all, what's gunna happen to me after I'm dead? I probably won't be able to even see how people are mourning my passing anyway.
Sometimes it’s hard to get yourself heard.
Sometimes it’s even hard to find a voice to tell the world what you have to say.
I suppose finding a voice is akin to finding the meaning of life. There becomes a point where all the events and happenings of our lives are stories to be told, and it is in telling those stories that we become immortalised. Standing the test of time in tale after tale, filling the wide-eyes of grandchildren with wonderment and disbelief. When it boils down to it don’t we all want the same thing? To be remembered. An annual minutes silence, a memorial statue in a city square, a plaque on a bench in a park would suffice. Death doesn’t frighten me, not yet. If I could die but be remembered then everything would be all right. I would die in body but be kept alive by memory. It is if my memory dies that I am truly lost, as though I never even existed. Dragged down deep under the waves of life with a purpose erased.
I guess the fear of death sets in eventually though. Ever wonder why the congregation of any given church is made up of old people? You could attribute it to the fact that people are suffering millennial angst and shunning religion more and more. Yes, perhaps that is partly true, but lets not take that diversion this time. Perhaps it is because the old people, in their youth, were young and care-free atheists, but when they realised they were going to die pretty soon they changed their mind, repented, and make one last attempt to save themselves before it is too late. At least if there is no afterlife, no reincarnation and you just rot in the ground then at least they get a nice funeral and a gravestone with their name embossed into it.
I think perhaps old people also think they deserve a second chance. Perhaps they want to achieve something in their lives. To die with a smug little grin on their face knowing the time they had was spent wisely. No, darning socks doesn’t constitute as wise. As a species we are procrastinators. We wait for something glorious to come to us. We sometimes even have the vague illusions that we are deserving of something. Life owes us a debt of gratitude for living it. As soon as we realise this is faux the better. If we want to achieve we have to get up and grab what we can. Perhaps I sound like a motivational speaker hired by some hapless boss to make his staff “fulfil their potential”, but then again they drive home in BMWs after they’ve said their piece.
I’d hate this to be a philosophy of a 14-year-old who thinks he has so much experience of the world and nobody can hurt as much as they do because they’re in love and the other person just hasn’t realised it yet. Truth be told I was probably like that, but I’d like to feel I’ve matured from that into someone with a semi-valid opinion of life. From my observations people will sit back and let life take its course and then panic when they realise they’ve got another 20 years left at the most and have done absolutely nothing with their time. Their life a short and generic slideshow of mortgage, career, spouse, children, retirement; capped off with a highlights reel of a holiday to Majorca.
Finding a voice and telling your stories can come later, when you’re wearing beige trousers and sat in an armchair with a grandchild on your lap. As for now, make sure you have something worth telling when the time comes.
Sometimes it’s even hard to find a voice to tell the world what you have to say.
I suppose finding a voice is akin to finding the meaning of life. There becomes a point where all the events and happenings of our lives are stories to be told, and it is in telling those stories that we become immortalised. Standing the test of time in tale after tale, filling the wide-eyes of grandchildren with wonderment and disbelief. When it boils down to it don’t we all want the same thing? To be remembered. An annual minutes silence, a memorial statue in a city square, a plaque on a bench in a park would suffice. Death doesn’t frighten me, not yet. If I could die but be remembered then everything would be all right. I would die in body but be kept alive by memory. It is if my memory dies that I am truly lost, as though I never even existed. Dragged down deep under the waves of life with a purpose erased.
I guess the fear of death sets in eventually though. Ever wonder why the congregation of any given church is made up of old people? You could attribute it to the fact that people are suffering millennial angst and shunning religion more and more. Yes, perhaps that is partly true, but lets not take that diversion this time. Perhaps it is because the old people, in their youth, were young and care-free atheists, but when they realised they were going to die pretty soon they changed their mind, repented, and make one last attempt to save themselves before it is too late. At least if there is no afterlife, no reincarnation and you just rot in the ground then at least they get a nice funeral and a gravestone with their name embossed into it.
I think perhaps old people also think they deserve a second chance. Perhaps they want to achieve something in their lives. To die with a smug little grin on their face knowing the time they had was spent wisely. No, darning socks doesn’t constitute as wise. As a species we are procrastinators. We wait for something glorious to come to us. We sometimes even have the vague illusions that we are deserving of something. Life owes us a debt of gratitude for living it. As soon as we realise this is faux the better. If we want to achieve we have to get up and grab what we can. Perhaps I sound like a motivational speaker hired by some hapless boss to make his staff “fulfil their potential”, but then again they drive home in BMWs after they’ve said their piece.
I’d hate this to be a philosophy of a 14-year-old who thinks he has so much experience of the world and nobody can hurt as much as they do because they’re in love and the other person just hasn’t realised it yet. Truth be told I was probably like that, but I’d like to feel I’ve matured from that into someone with a semi-valid opinion of life. From my observations people will sit back and let life take its course and then panic when they realise they’ve got another 20 years left at the most and have done absolutely nothing with their time. Their life a short and generic slideshow of mortgage, career, spouse, children, retirement; capped off with a highlights reel of a holiday to Majorca.
Finding a voice and telling your stories can come later, when you’re wearing beige trousers and sat in an armchair with a grandchild on your lap. As for now, make sure you have something worth telling when the time comes.