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Why is it that there needs to be a deeper meaning to life? I am standing here, alive.

Searching for a deeper meaning of life has made life meaningless. Watching people live and die for the beliefs of some afterlife. Their eyes slide right past me.

I spin around in the frigid air. My decades old coat no longer zips and wind rushes inside. I take my hands out of the pockets and throw them outward. It feels fucking good to be alive.

It isn’t something I ever want to take for granted again.

I want my life to mean something. I want my life, here on this planet, to have some measurable impact on the greater good of society. Not some bullshit religion tries to peddle about existence so you serve their interests. Their good. I don’t need a book to tell me what’s good or what’s moral.

I want to struggle to improve conditions, not just struggle for the right to say that I improved conditions. I just don’t know what, specifically, that means to me. For me. What good I can offer.

I am restricted by time. Time that doesn’t stand still, not for me. And I shouldn’t stand still either.