Today in conversation with my lovely Gabriel about his miserable job prospects, I said something that has been knitting itself together in my heart and my guts. It's been roiling around since I read Oliver Sacks' phrase about having an "intercourse with the world" as a writer - and in the AM I awoke with a pounding mantra in my head "every breath is precious every breath is precious every. breath. is. precious." and then another hit last night in a roomful (well, in a glamorous house in the Hollywood Hills-full) of women buzzing with purpose and passion and affecting change some way or another.
Today I heard this come out of myself, that yes maybe life is pointless, but if nothing matters, then why not make an impact? It doesn't matter how smart you are or how cool you are if nobody knows you. You live solo, you die solo. You burn a vivid splash you go on that adventure you play and learn. You gotta give up knowing everything if you want to play, said Mrs. Hempstock via Neil Gaiman.
And there's freedom in knowing that you don't do it for yourself. That you do it because you think it will help, maybe just a little bit, sure, maybe nothing but a drop in an ocean, but like David Mitchell wrote in the delicious Escher-like Cloud Atlas, What is an ocean but a multitude of drops?