Arthur Shcopenhauer -Vanity of Existance

I find myself mostly agreeing with Arthur Schopenhauer. Just you know, minus the bitter outlook. Sure the past no longer exists and future is illusory, only the here and the now being actual. Sure there is no inherent value to existence. Sure we all die. Sure we are constantly dying a little bit. Sure memory is more romantic than the moment. But so what?
Being merely aware of the actuality of only the current moment gets one out of most of the pitfalls associated with it. I suppose though, this sort of reaction could come from being promised greatness and finding none inherent. I have become disenchanted with my country over being told of its splendors and seeing genocides, assassinations and constant civil rights encroached upon. Death is just the lack of further experience, only our experiences themselves color life. Paying attention to ones aspirations, memories without getting completely lost in them is all that’s required to enjoy life’s entirety.
All thoughts I’ve had before. My defense mechanism against the death anxiety perhaps. (It’s funny that moment where one realizes that I’m speaking from old, established thoughts and start really having new ones and speaking from those). What I would actually give to live a little longer. Stars take millennia’s to die. But would more time to fritter away really make a difference? I tell myself the random chaos and lack of inherent meaning does not have to intrude upon my ascribed meaning because I must, or else get swallowed by the doom of the illusory future. Live each moment that is here. That’s all I get, until I don’t. Wisdom and folly both that, apparently.
There is an elegance to the brutal dissection of existence presented that I appreciate. Perhaps only because I am screening it first through optimism and putting myself into the text to make meaningless not equal to something to despair about, but I enjoy it.

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