by Anita Wellington

Created on: September 30, 2008

I often wonder at this life. I wonder if there is truly a meaning behind it, if there is anything to it besides birth, work, and death. I wonder, even if there were the slightest chance of my discovering the elusive meaning of life, would anyone else listen to it? Would they stop for a moment and ponder it? Or would it merely be something they read in the morning paper, in a column by some ambitious journalist. Would they mutter to themselves, "What a novel idea," finish their coffee, and be off to continue their normal everyday lives?I used to feel pity for Solomon. Here was a man who had it all, wisdom, women, riches, power, and yet his life seemed to be filled with discontent. I used to think piously to myself, "What a silly old man. How foolish he was to not be grateful for what he had." But now, as I too search for my place in this ever-changing world, I find myself sitting beside him, chin on my hand, wondering. I stepped outside just yesterday, and took a moment to think about the upcoming events in my life. Depressingly enough, I could find nothing that truly lit a fire in my soul. Oh I found the usual, outings with friends, work as usual, a bright spot here and there. But nothing that really got me excited. Nothing that sparked something in my heart, that made me think I was bettering the world, or being bettered myself."There is nothing new underneath the sun." Never before have I found such a profound, interesting, yet intensely morose sentence as that. If you were really to stop and think about your life as you know it, there will never be anything that hasn't already been. Money? It will soon be gone yet again. Power? Someone will always rise above you. Family? Friends? They die, move away, decide they detest you and never speak to you again. Even birth saddens me now. Yes, a brand new life. Yes, a child, with infinite possibilities in their future. But for what? This world will be ten times worse when they're 20 than it is now. Their parents will undoubtedly make innumerable mistakes, scar their impressionable souls for life, give them cause for psychiatric help. Their love interests will force them to spend the best years of their lives pining for something that could never be, regretting the things that were, and searching for the "perfect mate." Sometimes I think about what it would be like to have children. The happiness, the innocence their souls exude, so refreshing in this world of poverty and hatred, yet so quickly snuffed out by the hormones

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