Acute soreness is radiating throughout my upper body right now, from my neck down through my fingers. This is what happens when you haven’t done pull-ups in a year and decide to do 20 of them on a random Tuesday morning — and, it must be noted, the weight you’re pulling up is not insignificant.
I’m sure I made things worse by raising my hand so damn much in Psych Theories class later that same evening. 🙋🏼♀️🙋🏼♀️🙋🏼♀️🙋🏼♀️🙋🏼♀️🙋🏼♀️🙋🏼♀️🙋🏼♀️🙋🏼♀️🙋🏼♀️
We were discussing existentialism, and if there’s anything I’m intensely passionate about, it’s the inherent futility of life and all its attendant anxiety!
The idea that we are doomed to wander the planet alone, busying ourselves with punishing workouts and monotonous workdays in a search for purpose, knowing all the while that we’re just marching toward the ultimate nothingness of the grave…well, this is something that’s been rolling around in my head since childhood.
Between episodes of “Muppet Babies,” playing dress-up with my American Girl doll and writing/illustrating stories about talking ladybugs, I’d occasionally get sucked up in the existential vacuum and go swirling around in the infinite abyss for a while. What kid doesn’t?
Continue reading “Meaning”
Jen Wielgus Journalism 