An existential brain dump

This is my third attempt at today's blog. I'm on the way home from a birthday dinner with my partner (his cousin was 24 today).

We're sat on the train and it's just pulling out of the station. The slightly sultry train lady recording is listing the stops on the service.

Behind me, some girls are giggling. The man sat in front of us is watching something on his phone. The drone of the train engine vibrates through the carriage.

This is a journey I do almost every day, although not usually this late. I sometimes think about how weird it is that we spend our lives riding on trains and buses or driving in cars to sit at desks on computers or on phones and sell people things we've told them they need.

I wonder what our ancestors of 10,000 years ago would think if they saw our world. How we went from inventing agriculture to the world of glass and steel we inhabit today. What would they say?

I also think, as I trundle along, about how impermanent this all is. This train and these tracks, like everything else, seem so constant. But really, it could all be swallowed up by trees and weeds in a human lifetime. It could be razed by fire or flooding or nuclear war. We're a blip. Inconsequential. And the horrific things we’ve created are too, I suppose. I wish I could find that comforting.

I guess we're all Ozymandias, in a way. Our leaders most of all. We've been taught that great are those who leave their mark on the world. And I find myself worrying about what my mark will be lest I waste my life.

The question is, what kind of mark does one want to leave? The slash of a dagger can leave a scar thick and dark and perpetual. But is the wound inflicted worth that perminance?

Maybe it's okay to leave no mark, just loving, healing, joyous acts.

And maybe an infinity of loving acts, made by infinite souls, could make the longest lasting mark of all.