It’s very few things.
I get two opportunities a week to spend my evening writing, and this is one of them and I’m not even feeling it. I want to, but sometimes you just like can’t pick up and drop in whenever you want. You can try and make yourself, because sometimes you’ll surprise you. But other times you just can’t, and at that point you can journal or read and you’re still making yourself a little bit better.
Because I mean barring brain injuries of all sorts, knowledge is something that can’t be taken from you, it can’t be stolen or ruined by others. So doing anything to better your experience of the world through learning, it makes you worth more than what you were. And what’s truly beautiful about that is it includes every breathing soul alive.
The pointlessness is lost when we take meaning from ourselves. It doesn’t go away, because it can’t, but somehow it gets lost in the grander, stronger pull we’ll feel towards what moves us.