When I consider the brief span of my life, swallowed up in the eternity before and behind it, the small space that I fill, or even see, engulfed in the infinite immensity of spaces which I know not, and which know not of me, I am afraid, and wonder to see myself here rather than there; for there is no reason why I should be here rather than there, now rather than then.

On beholding the blindness and misery of man, on seeing all the universe dumb, and man without light, left to himself, as it were, astray in this corner of the universe, knowing not who has set him here, what he is here for, or what will become of him when he dies, incapable of all knowledge, I begin to be afraid, as a man who has been carried while a sleep to a fearful desert island, and who will wake not knowing where he is and without any means of quitting the island. And thus I marvel that people are not seized with despair at such a miserable condition.

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Pascal, in presenting it this way inspires me rather than giving me a sense of awfulness. Being here is an honor, a joy, a marvel. Knowing other humans and experiencing being human is all there is for me. I get that trying to have my life turn out a particular way is futile; I know how it is going to turn out. Knowing that, I choose to play my life, not just live my life. If you are here you are doomed to live a life. Why not play it.