It has often struck me as peculiar that man—the only creature gifted with reason—spends so much of his time avoiding the very questions that give his life meaning. The beasts of the field do not ponder why they are alive, nor do the birds of the air trouble themselves with notions of purpose. And yet here we are, fumbling about, trying to unearth answers from the rubble of existence like an old prospector hoping to strike gold.
The first question to answer is this: What would you give your life for? A cause, a principle, a person? If you find no answer, it means you’re merely passing the time—a fly buzzing against the windowpane, going nowhere, achieving nothing, and wondering why it feels so futile. You must have something worth the sacrifice, or life itself becomes a burden too tedious to carry.
And why are you alive? Well, some might say it’s a divine mystery, and others might call it pure luck. I’d argue it doesn’t matter how you came to be here. What matters is what you do now that you’re here. If you’re a captain of a ship adrift at sea, the question isn’t, “How did I end up in this ocean?” but rather, “How do I chart a course to dry land?”
Now, let’s talk about your friends—your companions on this unpredictable voyage. You see, a man is the average of his company. Surround yourself with fools, and you’ll soon find foolishness creeping into your own soul like mold in a damp cellar. If your friends are single, bitter souls, you’ll become a single, bitter soul. If they are gluttonous, you’ll grow into their shadows, for their habits will drape over you like a poorly tailored suit.
And if they are thieves, well, then your moral compass will soon point south as well. A person cannot walk through the pigsty and expect his boots to come out clean. If your companions cheat on their spouses, it is only a matter of time before you convince yourself that fidelity is just another relic of an age you are too modern to endure.
And if they are alcoholics, you will find yourself pulling up a chair to the same bar, convinced that your reasons are different, though your actions betray you. The bottle is a silent thief, stealing hours from the clock, clarity from the mind, and resolve from the heart. Surround yourself with those who drink to forget, and you too will start to trade your tomorrows for one more drink today. Your purpose will evaporate like the fumes from a glass, leaving you adrift, chasing the very clarity that sobriety could have offered all alon
You see, we are all mirrors, reflecting the light—or darkness—of those around us. If you wish to be honest, find honest friends. If you wish to be virtuous, walk with the virtuous. And if you wish to be noble, seek nobility not in birth but in character.
The world, they say, is a hard place, and maybe it is. But I’ll tell you this much: life is infinitely harder when a human refuses to ask himself the questions that make it worth living. So, find your purpose, choose your companions wisely, and tread the path of life knowing that each step matters. If you do this, then you’ll find not just a reason to live, but a way to truly be alive.
Now, let the fools scoff if they wish. It won’t be the first time wisdom was laughed at by men too ignorant to recognize it.
0