I heard a wrestler called War Machine (not that one, and not the other one, but the other other one) once talking about how casual sex had lost its luster for him. He was lamenting that he no longer got much of a thrill from banging some rando after every show. It was still fun in the moment but ultimately left him feeling empty.
Based on that, I now think that maybe saving the world is like casual sex. It seemed important at the time, but after the fact it feels hollow. Maybe it’s more like flossing, something you know you should do but it’s hard to really care about.
I wonder how many existential moments have happened in a wrestling ring. I was in there with a woman calling herself Wargasm who not only was stiffing the shit out of me but also has the worst BO I have ever had the misfortune to encounter. I think there was something wrong with her, I don’t think a healthy person can manufacture a smell like that.
And I wondered “is this what life is”?
Maybe saving the world is just too big. I bet when a doctor helps a kid with a broken leg, that feels great. But saving the entire world? It’s too much. It’s like that thing where your neighbor getting mugged freaks you out more than 40,000 people getting killed in a monsoon in Kuala Lumpur. At some point the scale is just too much for your brain.
I don’t regret saving the world from being taken over by bug monsters. I’ll save the world every chance I get. But if that doesn’t make me feel good, what will?
Is there more to life than saving everything and everyone? What a fucking question.
Rocket Cat 