Isn’t life strange, we want so much to enjoy it, to feel we have gotten as much out of it as possible, yet it always seems to fall short. Yes, some live with blissful happiness constantly, or just ignore the fact they are not happy. Some try to find happiness through other means and it works to a point, but for the vast majority life is shit.
Why should the greatest gift ever bestowed on anything to exist, at least in our reality, be so utterly sadistic. Are we at present the imperfect tool, like a great invention before it becomes a great invention? Perhaps the perfect song, when it is still just a few words on a page. Alternatively, we are the first or second draft of an amazing bestselling novel.
I have always wanted to believe we were more than that, but when you look at the world, we are just a draft, nowhere near to perfection. One thing that always inspired me to try harder was watching a lecture about Beethoven and the creation of his Ninth Symphony. The lecturer played Beethoven’s first version, which sounded like a drowning cat. “You have to remember”, the lecturer told us, “that Beethoven was totally deaf by the time he created this symphony”. He then played the tenth version and it still sounded terrible. Then the twentieth, this sounded more like the symphony but still bad, and then the last draft, one before the final symphony. I was enthralled, to me it showed perseverance, the never give up mentality, it made me realise that however shit I was at something, I could always get better. Fine, yes, I was never going to be a Beethoven, but I could aspire to try.
However, now I see it a different way. Now, I see it as being humanity - what we are, and what we do. We are like a fifteenth version of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony, we are getting near to perfection, but we still sound terrible. We are still nowhere near to getting it right, we are on the right path, but that path is still long with many forks separating from it.
We have to keep trying to find the right road; we have to continue to work towards finishing our symphony. I suppose I just feel a sense of sadness that I am only part of the draft symphony and not the symphony itself.