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I was in 3rd grade, lying on my back in the middle of the elementary school baseball diamond, staring up at the big empty blue sky, trying to explain to Morgan Owen what I was feeling.
I was feeling pretty weird. Reality had lost its meaning like an over-used word. I was overwhelmed with a sort of confusion, like the physical world was a facade for an eternal void. Existence had become too big and complex, and was a weight that was now crushing me.
My 8 year old brain tried to squeeze infinity into words. “It’s just so weird we’re all here! I don’t get it. Why is life anything at all? It could be anything and it’s this?”
Morgan Owen didn’t have any answers.
When I was a kid I wanted to be an astronomer. I spent my youth craning my neck to the few stars in San Diego’s night sky and let the mystery devour me. I wanted to explore that darkness so it wouldn’t haunt me anymore.
My baseball diamond breakdown would reoccur, over and over and over again, just like it did yesterday while I ate a bagel sandwich and stared out at the rain from my kitchen and felt the veil of reality lift to reveal its absurd and meaningless guts.
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