Como é que sabes que algo que fazes vale a pena?

Põe todo o teu esforço nisso; perdes noites de descanso; perdes tempo com os amigos; não consegues ter tempo para ler os teus livros favoritos mais uma vez; não consegues ver todos os concertos que queres; nem ver todos os filmes que queres. Perdes tempo, perdes sanidade mental, perdes vida.

Como é que sabes que vai valer a pena? 

Como é que sabes que todo o esforço vai resultar naquilo que queres?

E se aquilo que tu ACHAS que te vai fazer feliz, de facto, não o fizer. Se consegues aquilo que ACHAS que queres e depois de todo o esforço percebes que não é isso que queres. Onde é que isto faz sentido? Como é que é possível arranjar força para continuar um esforço em vão?

Eu sempre gostei da minha cidade natal. É uma cidade pacata, tranquila, a 20mints de carro do Porto. É uma cidade onde toda a gente se conhece, toda a gente sabe de quem és filho(a), neto(a), etc - ou seja, não é uma cidade onde facilmente passas despercebido(a). Apesar disto tudo não é sufocante, pelo menos nunca o senti. Mas este ano, pela primeira vez em 6 anos, estive sem vir a esta cidade durante cerca de 3 meses. Sabem quando dizem que precisas de te afastar para conseguir ver e observar as coisas e as situações sem ideias pré-concebidas? Foi o que aconteceu durante estes 3 meses. Voltei a esta terra e tudo me parecia estranho, mesmo as estradas por onde já passeei horas a fio. Esse sentimento foi estranho. Mais estranho foi no que reparei a seguir, depois de ter andado a re”conhecer” todos os recantos da terrinha - passei cerca de 2h a andar e observar as pessoas e já há muito tempo que não via uma cidade preenchida por tanta falsidade. Foi incrível ver a quantidade de pessoas que só estavam casadas por conveniência, nas quais se via que faziam aquele passeio típico de domingo por ser rotina e não por gostarem e não tirarem prazer nenhum nem do passeio, nem da companhia. Posso ser demasiado precipitada a tirar estas conclusões, mas em certos casos isto era tão notório, tão gritante, tão óbvio que acho que foi capaz de corromper todos os outros casais que passavam por mim. Se fossem só casais eu até ficaria menos irritada/infeliz/decepcionada porque tinha noção que era ‘aquela geração’ que queria preencher os requisitos daquilo que é suposto fazeres com a tua vida (tirar um curso, casar, ter filhos), mas não. Mesmo as pessoas que não faziam isto soavam a falsidade e soavam a uma tentativa demasiado forçada de levar uma vida aparentemente ‘perfeita’. 

Cada vez mais gosto de ir para sítios isolados, longe de agregados de multidões, rodeado pela natureza com a certeza que apenas um grupo muito restrito de pessoas, provavelmente pessoas com o mesmo desejo que o meu de fugir de multidões também vá para lá.

Cada vez mais esta ideia de levar uma vida perfeita que tem de ser partilhada com TODA a gente é algo que me irrita e em momentos de maior susceptibilidade me tira do sério.

Não quero com isto que as pessoas deixem de fazer o que lhes faz feliz. Se é viver uma vida falsa, para os outros verem e ficar com inveja e almejarem o mesmo que seja. Eu não sou ninguém com autoridade, para dizer como cada um deve levar a sua vida. Para mim cada um deve fazer aquilo que o faz feliz.

Só quis partilhar isto relativamente aos casais presos numa relação infeliz e demasiado acomodados e conformados para mudarem porque gostaria de saber se ou a única a ver cada vez mais situações desse género.

“

You were on your way home when you died.

It was a car accident. Nothing particularly remarkable, but fatal nonetheless. You left behind a wife and two children. It was a painless death. The EMTs tried their best to save you, but to no avail. Your body was so utterly shattered you were better off, trust me.

And that’s when you met me.

“What… what happened?” You asked. “Where am I?”

“You died,” I said, matter-of-factly. No point in mincing words.

“There was a… a truck and it was skidding…”

“Yup,” I said.

“I… I died?”

“Yup. But don’t feel bad about it. Everyone dies,” I said.

You looked around. There was nothingness. Just you and me. “What is this place?” You asked. “Is this the afterlife?”

“More or less,” I said.

“Are you god?” You asked.

“Yup,” I replied. “I’m God.”

“My kids… my wife,” you said.

“What about them?”

“Will they be all right?”

“That’s what I like to see,” I said. “You just died and your main concern is for your family. That’s good stuff right there.”

You looked at me with fascination. To you, I didn’t look like God. I just looked like some man. Or possibly a woman. Some vague authority figure, maybe. More of a grammar school teacher than the almighty.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “They’ll be fine. Your kids will remember you as perfect in every way. They didn’t have time to grow contempt for you. Your wife will cry on the outside, but will be secretly relieved. To be fair, your marriage was falling apart. If it’s any consolation, she’ll feel very guilty for feeling relieved.”

“Oh,” you said. “So what happens now? Do I go to heaven or hell or something?”

“Neither,” I said. “You’ll be reincarnated.”

“Ah,” you said. “So the Hindus were right,”

“All religions are right in their own way,” I said. “Walk with me.”

You followed along as we strode through the void. “Where are we going?”

“Nowhere in particular,” I said. “It’s just nice to walk while we talk.”

“So what’s the point, then?” You asked. “When I get reborn, I’ll just be a blank slate, right? A baby. So all my experiences and everything I did in this life won’t matter.”

“Not so!” I said. “You have within you all the knowledge and experiences of all your past lives. You just don’t remember them right now.”

I stopped walking and took you by the shoulders. “Your soul is more magnificent, beautiful, and gigantic than you can possibly imagine. A human mind can only contain a tiny fraction of what you are. It’s like sticking your finger in a glass of water to see if it’s hot or cold. You put a tiny part of yourself into the vessel, and when you bring it back out, you’ve gained all the experiences it had.

“You’ve been in a human for the last 48 years, so you haven’t stretched out yet and felt the rest of your immense consciousness. If we hung out here for long enough, you’d start remembering everything. But there’s no point to doing that between each life.”

“How many times have I been reincarnated, then?”

“Oh lots. Lots and lots. An in to lots of different lives.” I said. “This time around, you’ll be a Chinese peasant girl in 540 AD.”

“Wait, what?” You stammered. “You’re sending me back in time?”

“Well, I guess technically. Time, as you know it, only exists in your universe. Things are different where I come from.”

“Where you come from?” You said.

“Oh sure,” I explained “I come from somewhere. Somewhere else. And there are others like me. I know you’ll want to know what it’s like there, but honestly you wouldn’t understand.”

“Oh,” you said, a little let down. “But wait. If I get reincarnated to other places in time, I could have interacted with myself at some point.”

“Sure. Happens all the time. And with both lives only aware of their own lifespan you don’t even know it’s happening.”

“So what’s the point of it all?”

“Seriously?” I asked. “Seriously? You’re asking me for the meaning of life? Isn’t that a little stereotypical?”

“Well it’s a reasonable question,” you persisted.

I looked you in the eye. “The meaning of life, the reason I made this whole universe, is for you to mature.”

“You mean mankind? You want us to mature?”

“No, just you. I made this whole universe for you. With each new life you grow and mature and become a larger and greater intellect.”

“Just me? What about everyone else?”

“There is no one else,” I said. “In this universe, there’s just you and me.”

You stared blankly at me. “But all the people on earth…”

“All you. Different incarnations of you.”

“Wait. I’m everyone!?”

“Now you’re getting it,” I said, with a congratulatory slap on the back.

“I’m every human being who ever lived?”

“Or who will ever live, yes.”

“I’m Abraham Lincoln?”

“And you’re John Wilkes Booth, too,” I added.

“I’m Hitler?” You said, appalled.

“And you’re the millions he killed.”

“I’m Jesus?”

“And you’re everyone who followed him.”

You fell silent.

“Every time you victimized someone,” I said, “you were victimizing yourself. Every act of kindness you’ve done, you’ve done to yourself. Every happy and sad moment ever experienced by any human was, or will be, experienced by you.”

You thought for a long time.

“Why?” You asked me. “Why do all this?”

“Because someday, you will become like me. Because that’s what you are. You’re one of my kind. You’re my child.”

“Whoa,” you said, incredulous. “You mean I’m a god?”

“No. Not yet. You’re a fetus. You’re still growing. Once you’ve lived every human life throughout all time, you will have grown enough to be born.”

“So the whole universe,” you said, “it’s just…”

“An egg.” I answered. “Now it’s time for you to move on to your next life.”

And I sent you on your way.

”

—

The Egg

By: Andy Weir

My favourite short story, makes you open your mind and maybe think a little bit differently and can help put things in perspective.

(via foreverisareallylongtime)