Worth time? Money? Worth heartbreak and sorrow? Worth loss?
What is worth you best intentions? Why is some other worth none at all?
Is it worth the effort? Worth any of this at all?
Always asked, in varying degrees. Sometimes to the brink of our own mortality. The valuation of thoughts or deeds or objects. The valuation of people and what you may do for them. Or they, for you. Or the doings of they for all the rest of humanity. Or that, were it to be you.
Is it how all others see it? Or is your own paranoia the truer call? Or is the value solely up to thee who values it?
It is no stranger to me. What one may be worth- be it action, human or otherwise. The question much more so than the answer. Almost entirely more so.
And so, I believe I may not be the only one who wonders about the worth of they, and that which they call precious. And, so, I pose the question…
What matters to you?
There are always the vague choices dressed in obvious. Family. Friends. Love. Success. Wealth. These sorts of things could fulfill the answer to anyone, because they can fulfill anything at all. Words to which the user defines. Unspecific and unassuming. The beauty pageant’s ‘world peace’.
It is the specifics that uncover our uncertainties. And that which, if we cannot say we know, we can at least say we feel to be true. Of these unaggressive specifics, my favorite easily may be the stories that we hold dear. Fiction, and the rest of that stuff. What do they call it? History? Non-fiction? You know what I’m talking about. The subject of the books that comfortably retired men might like to read about. Just as much as the love dumb struck teenager.
The stories we choose to value reveal much about us.
What are the stories that give you goosebumps? That make your knees weak or heart throb? What are the tales that you turn to in your own destitution? Who are the characters?
Sal Paradise? Steve Rogers? Amelia Earhart? Robin Hood?
Take from the rich and give to the needy is an unorthodox approach to wealth. Better to have loved and lost than never loved at all. That’s an interesting approach to romance. And failure.
And there are trends, sure. Most people at least believe that they want peace more than not-peace. Most want joy over sorrow. And so on. We all have that which we’d think we’d fight for. Live for. Die for.
And yet even with the folk lore, pop culture and legends- it still looms. Vast and often overbearing. The hardest one to answer and the easiest to ask. That which has slowed armies and ceased vendettas. That which will stop the wildest beasts, right in their tracks.
The alpha. Omega. The almighty ‘why bother’.
And I know there are those who struggle immensely more than I ever have. And though I wish I were able to give peace of mind, I own no such gift. Only the inquiries that might be like those of you many or few poor bastards.
And yet, I have my own blurred truth. I know what I think is good and that which I call evil. And luckily for me, the veil I see is generally agreed upon. Killing and violation and theft. Very few examples can merit some form of justice. Many have none.
But Robin stole. And Cap had to kill. And Amy and Sal violated laws and order and a few other things. So as always, no absolutes.
But to be a good man. For me. And Steve. To be a powerful woman, for others. To be the best, or to the best of ability a soul can muster. That is the only sword and shield to that omnipresent ‘why bother’.
So, what is worth to me?
Ask me, in person preferably, and I might just figure it out. And hell, we might even get you sorted out too.
Or ask yourself. Honestly. And maybe some sense might come to the senseless.