Living in the Nowhere

“And you run and you run to catch up with the sun, but it’s sinking,

Racing around to come up behind you again.

The sun is the same in a relative way, but you’re older,

Shorter of breath and one day closer to death.”

- Lyrics from the song, ‘Time’, by Pink Floyd (The Dark Side of the Moon album).

Sometimes, life pulls you into a space where the everyday fades, and bigger questions about existence, mortality, and meaning come rushing in. This article is the result of one of those moments. As a designer, I spend a lot of time creating objects and experiences, but lately, I’ve been thinking about life itself as a design—a temporary, fragile, and ultimately profound experience. What follows is not so much an answer to these questions but an attempt to share my reflections. It’s personal, it’s philosophical, and maybe a little unexpected coming from me. But then again, isn’t life itself full of surprises?

Life: The Movie No One Asked For, But Here We Are

At some point, you start realizing that you’re not really the one running the show. Oh sure, you might think you’re calling the shots—“Look at me, I’m a self-made, independent thinker!”—but there’s something else at play. Call it destiny, call it the universe’s sense of humor, or call it your higher self playing The Sims. Whatever it is, it feels like the real puppeteer behind your life. And the kicker? That higher self doesn’t even remember it’s in charge. Brilliant, right? It’s like hiring an architect who immediately gets amnesia after finishing the blueprints.

Why does this happen? Apparently, the higher self wanted the full human experience. And let’s be honest, being human is an extreme sport. It’s messy, unpredictable, and comes with just enough mortality to keep things spicy. Unlike God—who, let’s face it, must be bored out of His immortal mind. God doesn’t get to die, which means no stakes, no urgency. Imagine playing a video game on infinite lives—fun for five minutes, then meh.

So here we are, the mortals, starring in this action-packed, limited-edition show called Life. We love, we hate, we succeed, we fail. It’s all so… intense. Which, of course, is why gods are rumored to envy us. We’ve got it all: heartbreak, joy, even bad Wi-Fi connections. What more could they possibly want?

Now, think about this: if you couldn’t die, how long could you keep going before you’d want to press the “off” button? Fifty years? A hundred? A billion? No matter how great you think you are, eventually, you’d get tired of reruns. Immortality sounds great until you realize that after fulfilling every dream, the only thing left to do is watch paint dry. Forever. (And you can’t even die to escape the boredom.) This is why death is the ultimate plot twist—it’s the one experience that keeps the game interesting.

Here’s the fun part: the more your ego dissolves, the better the experiences get. Like, really dissolve it. Let go of that inner voice saying, “But what will people think?” or “I have a five-year plan!” because, spoiler alert, life laughs at your plans. Once you let go, you’ll see the magic. You’ll start to realize that life is essentially a giant escape room, except the only way out is death. So… maybe enjoy the puzzles while you’re here?

The Mirage of Life

As a kid, I often wondered if life was real or just one big holographic prank. People, objects, experiences—they all felt like set pieces in an elaborate illusion. And you know what? They still do. But here’s the twist: the point isn’t to escape the illusion. It’s to live it, knowing full well it’s a mirage. (Kind of like scrolling Instagram—you know it’s mostly fake, but you’re still invested.)

Life’s like a movie where you’re both the audience and the actor, except you’re also the screenwriter, director, and probably the guy holding the boom mic. And guess what? It only happens right now. The past is a highlight reel, the future is a trailer, and the present is the only thing playing. So stop trying to re-edit the past or fast-forward to the good parts—you’ll just end up stuck in a weird time-loop of existential FOMO.

Fear, Death, and the Great Cosmic Joke

Let’s talk about fear. Most of it boils down to one thing: not wanting to die. Which is ironic, because being mortal is kind of the point. Imagine if you were immortal. You’d start begging for death within a few centuries. The only thing worse than fearing death is realizing that you’re alive but have no idea who you are. That’s the real horror show—wandering through life stuck in an illusion of productivity and existential dread, while LinkedIn keeps telling you to “achieve more.”

Here’s the thing: fear keeps us grounded, but it’s also what holds us back. It’s like gravity—it’s there, it’s necessary, but it’s also a pain in the ass. The moment you let go of the fear of death, life starts showing off. Suddenly, you see the magic. You realize the world isn’t some brutal, zero-sum game—it’s a giant playground for experiences. And when you stop worrying about winning or losing, you can actually start playing.

So, What’s the Point?

The point is this: life is short, weird, and often ridiculous. You were born without asking, and you’ll die without a choice. In between, you get to laugh, cry, fall flat on your face, and occasionally do something meaningful. And that’s the beauty of it. So, don’t waste it chasing illusions of security, success, or perfection. Let the fear dissolve, and watch life spread its wings.

Oh, and if this all sounds too deep, don’t worry. Just grab a cup of coffee (or Kokum, if you’re feeling fancy) and think about it. Or don’t. After all, life will keep happening whether you’re paying attention or not.