"As for myself, I very often stay on at the office and work for an extra hour or two - especially when the weather is bad. It’s not that I’m overly ambitious - it’s just a war of killing time, until it’s all right for me to go home. You see I have this little problem with my apartment…"
- The Apartment, directed by Billy Wilder
You think about people who are important here on Earth, or were, at least, in the recent past- Gandhi or Beethoven or John Lennon or whatever, and then just think about the Sun. And then it’s like you’re six years old all over again, wondering “Where does the Universe end?” and you’re just as meaningless as you always were, and will be. And you think of all the men, your friends, your mom and your dad and your job, and your home, and your money- they all make you feel like you’re safe, but, even if they’re beautiful, you won’t be. The whole world could burst into flames in five minutes, for wild reasons no scientist ever thought to predict, or a piano could fall on your head, or maybe you’ll get sick next year, or maybe somebody’s going to murder you, or your parents, or your kid, or maybe the dude you think you’re in love with’s going to get hit by a car on his way to work and you’re going to write a cool novel about it, which may sell terribly and depress you, and then you’re probably going to get cancer, or dementia-
And there’s nothing you can do to protect yourself from any of it. And there’s nothing you can do to turn yourself into a planet, or the ocean. You are unimportant and unsafe, and once you fully understand that, well then- oh my God. It’s amazing! You’re free.