The first thing which I can record concerning myself is, that I

Hear the words of Groucho Marx, a man known for laughter and jest, yet here speaking with solemn weight: “The first thing which I can record concerning myself is, that I was born. These are wonderful words. This life, to which neither time nor eternity can bring diminution—this everlasting living soul, began. My mind loses itself in these depths.” Though his tongue often danced with humor, in this utterance he steps into the timeless stream of philosophy, touching upon the mystery of existence itself. For beneath the jest lies the awe-filled cry of every human spirit: I exist, I live, I am.

The ancients would not have found this sentiment strange. For to declare “I was born” is not a trivial record, but the proclamation of miracle. Out of all the swirling chaos of the cosmos, out of infinite possibility, a single soul emerges, bearing consciousness, breath, and the fire of thought. Marx marvels not at accomplishments or wealth, but at the primal fact of being. To live at all is wondrous. To know that one’s soul is everlasting, untouched by the gnawing jaws of time, is to glimpse eternity through the fragile vessel of the self.

Consider the tale of Augustine of Hippo, who, centuries before, sat beneath the fig tree and wept at the vastness of his own soul. He, too, was astonished by the sheer fact of existence—that within him dwelt an eternal spark, a self capable of choosing, of loving, of yearning toward God. Like Marx, he confessed that the mind “loses itself in these depths.” For when one stares too long into the abyss of being, words falter, and awe alone remains.

It is striking that Marx, a comedian by trade, would echo such ancient awe. Yet is this not fitting? For who better than the jester, who has danced upon the stage of life, to understand that the greatest jest of all is existence itself? To laugh at the vanity of men, their posturing and their striving, is to hint at a deeper truth: that the mere fact of being alive already surpasses all human invention. Birth is the first miracle, and life itself the greatest stage.

But Marx does not stop at wonder. He proclaims that life is everlasting, that neither time nor eternity can diminish it. This reflects not only ancient theology but the eternal hope of humanity—that the soul does not vanish into dust but endures beyond the veil of mortality. Whether he spoke these words with irony or sincerity, their truth resounds: to live is to touch something indestructible, something greater than the fleeting hours of flesh.

The lesson for us is clear: do not wait for achievements, wealth, or recognition to declare your life meaningful. The wonder begins in the simplest truth: you were born. That alone is the foundation of awe, the source of dignity, the reason to live with gratitude. From this flows courage, for if existence itself is already a miracle, then every day, every breath, every moment is an extension of the miraculous.

What must we do with this knowledge? First, awaken daily with gratitude for being alive. Second, do not belittle your existence by comparing it to others; your soul is a spark of eternity, no less than kings or sages. Third, honor the lives of others as equally miraculous, for each person you meet carries that same eternal fire. Live, then, not with despair but with reverence, for to live at all is to stand upon sacred ground.

So let Marx’s words echo not as jest, but as eternal truth: “The first thing which I can record concerning myself is, that I was born… this everlasting living soul began.” Remember this when you feel small, when the weight of the world presses upon you. You were born. You live. You carry within you a light that neither time nor eternity can extinguish. Let your mind lose itself in these depths, and from that awe, let your life rise in joy, in courage, and in reverence.