I never understood the meaning of the phrase
till I met someone who was devoid of it.
Existential Angst. The angst of existance. The agony of being.
How is it possible to live without it? I mean, how can one be a part of the crowd, the universe, creation itself and still stand apart? You may stand out but can you stand apart? How can you not influence and be influenced by the forces around you? Even the mountain is shaped by the lashing of waves, the skies are coloured blue because of the interaction of light with air particles, the sea looks blue because of the sky. The hardest substance known to mankind, a diamond, is nothing more than common carbon that just has been shut away from the impact and influence of the universe for a very, very long time.
Everything else, everyone else is touched and altered by those around them. Everyone bears the taint, the burden, the injury of being alive. The scars are what we call existential angst.
Or perhaps not. Apparantly some people are rejuvenated enough for the scars to disappear…by plain air itself. Or something else altogether. What?
I carry the cross of the existential angst of not knowing who I am and why I’m here. I don’t belong, then I do. I don’t understand, but sometimes I do. And it pains me, it hurts me. How can it not?
Existential angst defines me. It is my restlessness, which brings forth my pondering, my thinking, my analysing, my understanding, my wisdom, my pride, my foolishness, my mistakes, my pain, my memories, my regrets, my desires, my dreams, my hopes, my annoyances…Me.
Existential angst or the pain of being makes one ponder. We think and therefore we are. And yet, there are those who don’t suffer existential angst. Those who exist, those who are. How??
They must be part of the universe too. We fit, like question and answer.