I've always wished that essays just didn't exist as a concept. Why do we need to curate some already existing information or come up with some banal idea that a hundred people have already thought of? Each time I've had these thoughts, though, it has always been when I've been anticipating writing the essay.
One of the best feelings I have is right when I type that last word at 3 in the morning after sitting in the library for the last 8 hours. What is the cause of that? Is it relief that I'm finally done? Anticipation of the sweet sleep I'll get once I walk back to my room? Is it just the mixture of red bulls and sleep deprivation? I think I've finally figured out what gives me that sensation.
When I write an essay, I am partaking in the most human thing possible. What distills the essence of life more than sitting motionless in that room moving ones fingers with the only reason being that I should? The only significant motion is that which is going on in my brain. I am there thinking for the sake of thinking sitting in a building built because we needed a place to think.
Essays are beautiful because of their pointlessness. We toss a few symbols onto a page to please our superiors and that somehow makes us better at life. The bliss of life is being able to decide what's blissful.
I should really get to reading The Myth of Sisyphus.
Published: December 6th, 2015
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