The usual arc of growing up starts with the phase "The world is huge and magical. Hurry up and become an adult", then passes through the ontological horror "Life is meaningless. Why all this?" and settles on the wise "Live to live... preferably in comfort".

There is an excellent moment about life in comfort in "My Cursive" by N. Berberova: "October. In the building manager's waiting room ... a sonnet hangs under glass in a frame. I translate it literally:
"Eat sweetly, drink moderately, have a small house surrounded by fruit trees, have lots of leisure, few children, a calm attachment; have no lawsuits with relatives, conduct no political disputes, suffer no doubts and know no love dramas, which always cause anxiety, let neither well-wishers nor mere neighbors get too close and live until death like this - that is the lot, none better in the world".

Then bang... war. There are no more problems with goals, because there is no light, no water, no heat. To survive, just survive and not become scum in the process - that is the age-old goal of every person.

The war will pass and there will be peace. We'll fall asleep again, warm up and forget everything. "Like a dream of an awakened person, the memory of the life lived flies away" (A. Tkachev)

Only labor and deeds will remain.

Life in comfort. In comfort with conscience.

https://youtu.be/DRYzImN_bDM?t=82

2022-11-20

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