What’s the point?

Thinking about the myriad of things I do in my life, this simple question popped out: What´s the point?

What´s the point of living? Of searching for the truth? Of trying to be happy? Of trying not to be sad? Of working? Of having hobbies? Of not having them? Of having sex? Of being celibate? Of traveling? Of being rich? Of being poor? Of being frustrated? Of being ecstatic? Of dying? Of learning? Or opting to do nothing? Of endless searching for meaning? Of not searching for nothing at all? Of trying to explain your feelings to another human being? Of being social? Of being an hermit? Of fitting in? Of helping people? Of being helped? Of studying and learning? Of being ignorant? Of belonging to a movement? Of not belonging? Of believing? Of not believing? Of being? Or not?

Pointless…