So many times at school, this idea of having a purpose, having a goal, has been repeatedly stamped into my brain. Constantly, we are barraged by the idea of doing something with ourselves. So that we can be starkly different from the pot-bellied bums that sit back Homer Simpson-style on a sofa in an open, plaid t-shirt and old, stained jeans to watch T.V., beer in hand. But then why are so many people absolutely purposeless in life?

Ayn Rand contends that the most dangerous man is the one who does not seek any sort of purpose, who does not actively pursue anything. This is the sort of person that slowly multiplies and people an entire wagon full of unthinking types; the wagon, then, can be designated for any purpose.

That, however, is not really my purpose today. Maybe I’m just a little frustrated? Annoyed? Baffled? Disconcerted? Probably all four. There are kids at school that hook onto drugs and crazy outings – why? But that’s not even the most frightening bit. The part that makes me shudder is that most of these kids know what they’re doing to themselves is deleterious. But they’ve developed a strange, hardened shell. They feel, not good, but a good sense of swamping “nothing” by dipping into the happy delirium of drugs and loud music. They call it fun. And somehow, it’s this euphoric state of ecstasy and glee that is supposed to compensate for their “tough” lives.

Now, realize that I’m not just trying to be the matronly prude objecting to the rash behavior of the young’uns here. I honestly don’t get it. The idea of sacrificing your autonomy, creativity, and spirit to the gnashing teeth of the mob-god is repulsive.

Of course, I understand why they continue to do it. It’s like addiction, purposelessness is. Once a person is sucked into the sticky quicksand of lethargy, she is eternally submerged in it. Then, escaping the globbish, amorphous hands of apathy becomes impossible.