I wrote this article some years ago and stumbled on it recently. I enjoyed re-reading it so I figured I’d share.
I cannot fathom how I could possibly exist. The odds of my existence are so astronomically astounding that anyone finding themselves in the position of existing has won a lottery far beyond an imaginable probability.
My existence owes itself to every single motion anyone who is related to me in the past has ever made. If my great grandfather in the 1300th century did not trip over that rock he may have never felt like sleeping with my great grandmother that evening. The possibilities of my conception are so far from possible that I have no clear understanding how I could be so fortunate. If my father jerked to the left instead of the right when he and my mother were conceiving me a whole other sperm could have found that egg.
My consciousness is a lottery ticket, with 1 out of a billion of trillions(or more) chance to be drawn. Could I possibly be so fortunate to have be picked? how is it possible? Can anyone ever call himself or herself unlucky? can anyone ever say “ this was a bad day”?
I feel sad for all those people who never got to live. While I stress about how I will get by next month, or trying to live my dreams, I forget that I am living.
I get to be alive and I have nothing to thank for it, just a solemn feeling of gratitude and humbleness. How dare I question my happiness, when at least I get to BE happy.
I suspect some or most people may have wished they were part of the other billions of trillions of people who never become conscious. I, on the other hand, will take what I have, and not take it for granted
A half a glass of water is better than no water at all.