Just as I decided to not believe in the Universe or fate or whatever because too much is unexplainable, I went to the cinema and watched The Odyssey.

It’s not what I expected. At all.

What I thought would be a story of a heroic journey turned out to be one of shame, guilt, reconstruction, coming back to a “home” that’s no longer home.

Maybe we see what we want to see, but I lost it when Calypso said goodbye to Odysseus. She told him to not defy the ocean anymore with his cleverness, and be completely broken down by it. Letting go of control is the only way to go home.

The sense-making, meaning-seeking, story-recounting - aren’t they all a form of control? What is meaning anyways? Maybe there isn’t a bigger purpose at all. The only meaning is in the beholder, the seeker.

All there is - all that matters - is my choice right now. I can’t think my way out of life, and the only way through is to take life as it comes, and ask myself, what do I actually want? Then whatever happens is up to the sea.