I'm not normally a depressing person. I've never thought about killing myself. I don't consider myself emotionally sad, and I enjoy and value life. But this morning, I had a rather depressing realization that life is all about the trauma.
Every morning, my alarm clock blares at me in a high-pitched shrieking tone, rousting me from a comfortable deep sleep, where I dream of fantasies that I am too timid to ever exercise in reality. Smacking the alarm in an effort to stave off the real world for just a few more minutes, it shrieks at me again to get the hell out of bed. Begrudgingly, I open my eyes and stare at the time reflected in red light on the ceiling. A small shock to my system arrives with the realization that I must have hit the snooze button more than once for it to be that late. I quickly throw off the covers; another shock, this time one of temperature, as the cold air reminds me that it is indeed winter. I haven't even been awake a full minute and I've already been assaulted in mind, skin and sound. I turn on the bathroom light and my eyes scream out a fourth attack.
The day pretty much progresses like this for most of us. We take little time to notice the simple pleasures of living, with a constant walk from traumatic event to traumatic event. From the death of loved ones, to vehicular accidents, the daily news, personal problems and the problems of others. We live most of our lives in search of solutions to problems, rather than in appreciation for the time we spend in between. We react, rather than act. And this, my friends, is sad.