Don't ask me how I came up with all these questions. They're just there, in my head, suddenly, as I was bumping in my chair on the rusty bus on my way to the office one morning.
Have I dream enough?
One of my colleagues is leaving the job for a scholarship abroad, in the major that she loves. Another colleague is leaving for another job that servers her higher purpose in life, that is teaching and social works. My other colleague, having recently found out that she's an introvert, realized that she needs to find another job if she wants to stay healthy.
Then came the next question: Have my life been useful enough?
They said a life worth living is the one that gives benefit to other people. Then I wonder, does quantity matter in this case?
Because I am very sure that up until today, my existence in this world benefits only a very limited number of people, even further down to not more than my mother and my daughter.
Does it make my existence in this world less useful then?
And the next question: as I was standing at the platform this morning waiting for the train, feeling the morning wind breezing, softly blowing my long tunic and trousers, all black, nothing fancy or fashionable in any way: Do I have what it takes to charm?
Do I need it?
What does it take to charm people actually? And why?
Once I got to the office, I immediately share this pointless reverie to a very dear friend, who then replied by relating to her recent dream about how she met her own death. She said, you know dear, none of those questions you've just asked, none of them matter in the face of death.
And that was the truest truth, bold enough to answer all my questions.
I'm not against asking questions, indulging the noisy whys and hows moving back and forth in your head, especially those of you with that relentless mind constantly throwing thoughts of the most random topics in the unlikeliest times.
Don't shut them down (because you won't be able to do that anyway). But keep in mind, that there are times when you have to learn to accept things for what they are, because some of them do not really matter in the end.