Maybe life doesn't need to have some sort of grand meaning. Maybe looking at the eternal life is an easy solution to the uneasy feeling we get when thinking about our purpose in the 80 or so years we are alive. Maybe it is not about the house in the suburbs with the two kids and a cat.
Maybe life is just an accumulation of daily experiences, the good and the bad kind, which come together, not necessarily in a grand and meaningful way, but surely in a beautiful way: a symphony of all the different types of notes.
Perhaps the beauty lies not in the purpose of the piece but simply in the experience it provides. Maybe life is supposed to be an experience, a treat or vacation and we're just over-thinking it.
Or is this an attempt to sugarcoat the difficulties faced in life? Or maybe it is justification for laziness and condonation of a hedonistic lifestyle?
