The Meaning of Life

So here I sit on a snowy Thursday night, contemplating my navel, happiness, and the meaning of life.

I got started thinking of this after I started thinking of buying a kit to complete an AR-15. I bought the receiver a few years back, but never got around to building it up. It would be an interesting project to build a rifle from scratch, but still – I don’t shoot that much, and have better places to spend my money. From a practical standpoint, I have no need for this.

Still, the attraction remains.

Why, then, do I want another firearm, when I don’t shoot the ones I have?

I think the rifle is a symbol of the person I want to be. The image I have of myself. Cool toys add to that mystique. The motorcycle may fall into that category, though I *do* enjoy getting out for a ride.

Are these physical things simply how I’ve been brainwashed by our consumer society into thinking that I can buy happiness? If so, what is true happiness?

Spending time with family?

A walk in the woods?

Testing yourself against problems?

Helping others?

Damnedifiknow.

Peace, ya’ll.