We search for meaning, and in the searching meaning conflates with beauty, and so we're never sure what we're searching for. It could mean the same thing, but it doesn't, meaning and beauty. They are the same, the romantic part of you insists, but the small, hard part of you knows otherwise. Because we want beauty but we need meaning, and so for you meaning could be living your small existence from a chair in your living room, pulling strings and waiting for death. And for you it might be living a loud life from atop a cloud, collecting raindrops and scattering them into the wind. The first isn't beautiful, but who is to say that? Isn't there beauty in finding your comfortable place, in living there? Either way?
So you search for a way to feel good, and to feel beauty, as you look for meaning. And that means plucking your eyebrows and buying a new car and spoiling your kids and reading a new book, book after book, or finding the newest and best song that elevates you above the steady thrum of what it means to exist.
What's the point of any of it, the small, hard part of you wants to know. Why does your heart keep opening up and pulling in new things? Because it has to. It does, your heart reaching out and out, your nerves poised and electric, waiting to feel something more and better.
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