Perhaps nothing really happens

You might enjoy this thought or you might find it completely nihilistic. Consider the last ten years of your life - how much of it can you remember? Which parts have lasting meaning? What really happened? Where are the monuments of your existence?

I spend a good deal of time looking at old books and music. There are whole lifetimes invested in these things, an entire career, an entire way of being in the world. They are beautiful things, some of them, but perhaps the beauty is in the moment of their creation, like flowers or trees. Here then is something we can enjoy - the transience of all things, rather than any lasting meaning. Perhaps it is enough to be in the world, but that is perhaps just me talking through the function of my circumstances. 

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