“The greatest indicator of a loss of meaning is not that we have become weary of pain, but that we have become weary of pleasure.” Ravi Zacharias

Escape. That’s the easy way out, isn’t it? I come home from work… tired after a long day on the phone, meeting with people about things it’d probably be easier and more efficient for just one person to make the decision and get it done, pouring over my calendar, thinking through details, details, details, that no one else will think of if I don’t. I come in, sit on the couch, turn on the nintendo, throw in a DVD, and escape.

Then, lying in bed, when the reality of the day comes back to me, and when the noise of life that hasn’t been processed again is resounded in my scattered thoughts, I grab the nearest book in my bookshelf to fill my brain with something to distract it from trying to decipher meaning out of the seemingly meaningless.

Its my prescription for everything, I’m noticing, this escapism. My narcotic of choice is distraction. Its addicting, because its a quick fix. It helps me to avoid having to give excuses for why I can’t seem to find what should come naturally to me… purpose.


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