Wrong Dreams, Questions

He watched the self-destruction of everyone he knew crumble and smoke and erupt around him, and he tried his hardest not to question his dreams, too. Don't ask questions, he told himself, and upon thinking this mantra over in his head and realizing that questions are of ultimate importance in the world, he decided that it was still better not to ask them, because you probably don't want to know the answer anyway. Besides, everything's a bit easier with a goal in sight, and if you start asking all these questions about the meaning of the goal, or its worth, or your worth, what good does that do you? You'd have to start all over with finding a path, discovering what you like and who you are, and what you want to become and why, and all those bothersome tasks that he had already accomplished en route to his dreams. To uproot these ideals at this stage in the game would be preposterous, especially with all his friends collapsing on top of themselves at the alarming rate at which they were doing so. He decided to remain steadfast, even if he was maybe dreaming the wrong thing, because succeeding in the wrong thing, he rationalized, is better than never achieving what you think the right thing is.