What is the point of all we do?

Hey, does it ever hit you that we are all caught in a web of our own making, that we strive and strive endlessly to meet ends that we need not have set in the first place. And at the end of the day, what's the fuss all about?
I often wonder about the number of people who go around saying, ``I was determined to do this..'', ``This..award..post..blah blah.. means the world to me,'' ``My children are my world,'' ``I can't think of giving up what I have,'' ``I had to prove a point..'' etc. etc.
Does anyone of them pause to think: what is all this effort and involvement in aid of? Like everyone else before us, we too shall perish, and with us, shall perish our priorities, our pet peeves, loves, lifestyles, everything.
All we shall be left with is Shunya, Nothing. Except your soul and your karma, if you believe in both or either. So, why chase a mirage? Your material world may or may not disappear but you will. That's a given. So why spend so much energy figuring out whether your neighbour's having an extra-marital affair or not, whether your children will stand first all their lives, whether your face will radiate the same glow forever, whether people like your cousin more than you, whether your colleague earns more than you. Why agonise over ways to make it big, ways to be recognised, ways to scheme your way up the corporate ladder when all of this will come crashing down one day-- the day you are not there. Believe me, even our precious children will not be there forever, terrible as it sounds.
There's no one on this planet yet who has never gone away. Unless you're talking of the cockroach (Now there is a strong possibility It will endure).
I must be some kind of a freak that I keep pondering over this facet of life --our deaths-- and never cease to be fascinated by the amount of effort we put into irrelevant things completely believing that, like diamonds, life is forever.
I am often berated for never remembering everyone's names, lives, what they told me, what they were wearing, and what they do for a living, etc. etc. And I automatically blame my disgusting memory for behaving so peremptorily that only I seem important in my scheme 0f things (and sometimes not even I.)
But over the past few years, I have begun to appreciate my lack of interest in people and their lives as a tacit acknowledgement of our transient lives. When nobody will last, why take the pain of behaving as if everything everyone does is just so important? What, seriously, is important in a world of make-believe where the only permanent thing is change?
Many get foxed at my lack of ambition-- for not plotting to become something. This ties up with the same problem-- what do I have to prove to whom and for what? Why pursue some ephemeral end for someone else? Part of the problem, of course, is my comfort level with myself. I have never felt the need to prove anything to anyone and believe it's only those with feelings of inadequacy who have the urge to achieve something.
In my mind, I am what I think I am (sorry, Descartes, but this is not really anything to do with you). So why worry about what others think?
To be sure, I labour over most things I do, but that's because it's a job to be done and a shoddy job is simply not happening. If I do it right, there are no brownie points to be scored or points to be made to any one. If at all, I find a challenge, I do feel kicked, and go all out. But there's never any idea even at the back of my head, or the fringes of my hair, that if I succeed, people will notice me. It's nice if they do, of course, but if they don't, it's fine too.
No recognition outlasts you unless you are a trail blazer like Mahatma Gandhi. And even that will last at the most till the end of time on this planet.
Even the midst of a big project, I pause to think what the worth of it is. I continually ponder over the ultimate aimlessness of our existence. Perhaps there is an aim and we're still to discover it. Or perhaps, as some say, salvation is our goal and we don't know.
I don't know. Do you?