Bookmark #234

The better part of being a human being was that there were always dishes to do. That was the best part about anything that could ever happen to you. No matter how worse or fantastic things were during the day, there were always dishes at night.

There were always other people with their little favours, bills to pay, things to do, books to read, and jokes to make, even if no one laughed, especially then. There was always enough to do that you could go through most days, and if you did, there would be dishes to do at the end of the day.

You could proclaim the end of the world. Yet, before you know it, you’d be living again—rolling dice on a piece of cardboard with your friends, slamming the empty pint on the table after chugging it or talking to someone about the next best thing waiting to happen. Sunsets will still occur, and so will sunrises, and sometimes, you’ll have people to watch them with.

The more I think about what makes us go, the more I realise that it’s only the mundane things we do every day. We could live our lives trying to solve the questions that elude us like little armchair philosophers, but that won’t make the world go round; a simple text to tell a friend a song made you think of them would.

The greatest purpose in the world is to have a cup of coffee or tea or whatever else with your friends or family or a stranger who is willing to share one with you. The grandest thing you can do today is to take a walk and wish someone a good evening. The largest attempt at happiness is to resist the urge to fight over a cab fare.

You could have your heart broken, you could lose most of what you hold dear, you could lose yourself for a bit, and yet have a petty argument with a neighbour. If you’re looking for happiness, and if you’re looking for peace, and if you’re looking for purpose, it was in carrying over to the next day. Humanity was so preoccupied, we could go on forever.

If there was any reason to go on, it was in doing the things we do anyway, acting as we know what we’re doing all along. All the purpose we’ll ever need is in the pile of dishes sitting in our sink.

As long as we did the dishes, everything was going to be okay.

// if you want to support this walk to nowhere, you can pitch in here