You Know What I Mean?

On the surface, I like to believe I mean well and in the ongoing search and definition of my life's meaning, I have made it a habit to actively contemplate/capture that meaning, at times in the immediate then and there and at other times in a more cumulative fashion. While I've done my best to be honest and forthcoming, one can argue that complete objectivity is impossible, due to the simple fact that I'm me and even with a well-lit mirror, I don't always see all of myself.

One of the primary purposes of this blog is to attain a bit of that objectivity by putting myself out there and moving on, then reviewing and critiquing the me that was/is and hopefully realizing and enacting the necessary changes to effectively continue "meaning well". I bring up the topic of "criticism" because when hindsight is brought into the equation, we inevitably find that some of those well-meant intentions go sour. The amateur therapist in me (using the title as evidence) loves nothing more than going back over past entries and mining for golden nuggets of wisdom that will lead to solutions to yesterday's/today's/tomorrow's problems, but that's rarely the case. What I've typically found is that I've merely got wild dreams of romance and fantasy that come out in wordy posts and poetic jibberish.

What am I getting at? I'm not sure, but I've had a lot of free time lately and a lot of that time has been spent looking for meaning in various angles of my life story and I seem to keep coming up short. Short of what? The same meaning that philosophers and great minds have filled volumes with various thoughts and opinions while still coming up short of a consensus. When I put it to myself in that light, I begin to realize that while I'm not wasting my time, I'm joking and essentially lying to myself if I ever think I'm going to find a single or definite meaning to anything I see/think/do... life is far too infinite to ever be pigeonholed.

So, with all that said, I guess you nor I know what I mean.