When I’m unhappy, I feel like I’m doing life wrong. I’d rather be happy. But is happiness the point of life, or is there more to it? If I pursue happiness, mine first then for those around me, is that selfish? But if there’s a bigger purpose, then what about people with Alzheimer’s or dementia who can’t recall recent experiences or make plans?
But isn’t our life really just the story we tell ourselves about ourselves? I guess I’m trying to create a narrative arc, and your comment says to me: enjoy the exposition and character development; it’s enough.
Yeah but just like lives, not all stories are good. When you can’t change fundamental building blocks of your own story to create a pleasing narrative for yourself, all you can really do is exist in what there is. Most people exist like this.
Fighting your objective reality for an unobtainable greater meaning, will cause mental illness if you keep doing it. Come to terms with the real you as opposed to the ideal you, and make what you have for your life as nice for yourself as you can, while you can.
Save your desires for manifest destiny for your OC’s and write some stories about them or illustrate them or something.