There is a simple exercise in which I partake on a regular basis. It can be found in an infinite variety of everyday items: a ping-pong ball, fridge magnet, matchstick, butterfly, calculator, harmonica, chessboard, Steinbeck anthology, or paint brush will all suffice. The rules are straightforward: extract the richest possible experience out of life. The ultimate objective, however, remains far more elusive, and exceeds the grasp of every person I have met, including myself.
I’ve been a sentient being for as long as I can recall—part of that notion is exciting and the remaining part perplexing. To decipher the meaning of my existence, I indulge in the accomplishments and ideas of the minds that performed my exercise before me, and explore the many possibilities. I practice music, a kaleidoscopic medium that expresses the vicissitudes of life. I listen to Tom Joad, Holden Caulfield, and Prince Hamlet voice their perspectives of the human condition. I obsess over the inner workings of the universe, up to the very frontier of cosmic discovery. I stand on the shoulders of giants, who, like myself, embraced life without knowing its purpose. Perhaps one day I’ll figure find it.