Twenty Somethings

I started questioning the meaning of existence and my own life’s purpose as early as sixth grade. Questioning the world around me and how I fit in has always been at the back of my mind, haunting me even in my happiest moments growing up. I questioned why I was alive, why it mattered what I did, what my purpose was, or if I had one at all. During my formative years of middle and high school, my mind was a whirlwind of questioning the world around me and myself. I created feelings of inadequacy and self-doubt trying to figure out the meaning of things I could barely even comprehend yet. I fell into depression and overwhelming anxiety trying to answer the question that philosophers have debated for centuries.

I have felt utterly lost for the majority of my life, floating through life simply existing without living for fear of what that meant in the wider context of the world and life itself. 

There is constant pressure to figure yourself out and carve a permanent place into the notches of the world. Some of this pressure I created myself through comparing myself to people who I felt truly had changed the world. I looked at the philanthropists and heads of companies, the entertainers whose names were engraved in time for the mark they made on the world. I had this innate fear that I would never measure up. I would never be able to change the world and redefine anything I cared about. I felt useless and anxious, and above all, I loathed myself for not understanding how to be a “normal” person in a world of exceptional people. I had this underlying fear that my life would mean nothing, that there was absolutely no point in being alive if I did not do something profound. 

Now, in my twenties, I still cope with the same fears and questions as I did when I was 12. I still struggle with understanding the purpose of my life and what it will mean centuries from now.

When I went to college, I attempted to push these questions to the back of my mind and not think about them as they only made me feel frustrated due to lack of understanding. But living in a fantasy in which I believed nothing I did matter and had no meaning, I quickly became withdrawn and fell into one of the worst depressive spirals of my life. Why did it matter if I skipped class or canceled on my friends? Who would notice, who would care six months, a year, or a hundred years from now? I carried this pointless line of thinking on my back for years, struggling with the weight of this nihilistic mindset. 

It wasn’t until a year ago that I stopped pushing these thoughts to the back of my head, but rather embraced my confusion and questions with open arms. Returning to my hometown to help heal my mental health allowed me the space to explore what I truly wanted and think about life and myself without the pressure to perform for the people around me. I had space and time to simply sit and ponder for the first time in my life. I was able to set down the weight of the critical and negative mindset that had been an unwelcome companion for over ten years and delve into figuring myself out. 

I spent a lot of my time rediscovering lost passions that I had decided were meaningless during my depression. I picked up books that resonated with me and allowed me to think deeply about humanity. I wrote lengthy (and often bad) poems about my fears and emotions in a way that forced me to face the darkest parts of myself that I had run from for too long. I took the time to relearn who I was at my core and discover what I enjoyed and what made me happy after years of pushing my own interests to the side because they “didn’t matter.” By simply slowing down my life and allowing myself to take the time to go on a journey of rediscovering myself, I also inadvertently discovered what this life means to me.

It hit me one day while I was at the lake watching the sunset. I realized everything I had been doing, all of these simple things I enjoyed, had no real inherent meaning. They did not make an impact on the world in any significant way. I did them because I enjoyed them, regardless of whether they had a so-called “purpose” to the greater world or not. They had a purpose for me. They meant something to me. They made me happy, they interested me, and above all, I loved doing them just for the sake of doing them. It did not matter if the things I did, thought, and said didn’t mean anything to anyone but myself.

Nothing I did mattered to anyone but myself. I could create my own meaning for my life, my own happiness. I was responsible alone for creating a reason to wake up. Where in the past I wandered aimlessly, not understanding why I should wake up every day, I somehow started waking up every day because I simply wanted to. I created a reason to wake up and be alive. I had let go of the fear that I was not fulfilling some goal and purpose when there was never one to begin with because I had not created one yet. 

I had been stuck in a limbo of not knowing what to do, think, or believe about life because I had not been able to spend the time discovering it. There had been no meaning to my life previously because I had simply decided there was not one. Somewhere in my journey of self-discovery and care, I had created my own meaning for being alive. Every decision I made was mine alone and I had created my own individual purpose through my actions. 

“Man is condemned to be free; because once thrown into the world, he is responsible for everything he does” – John-Paul Sartre.

All of this is to say that I adhere to the philosophy of existentialism and the theory of making meaning out of nothing. I sometimes like to think of myself as Sisyphus from the Greek myth. While doomed to push a boulder uphill for eternity only for it to roll back down every time and start over, I am embracing that life may be futile and meaningless, but it is still possible to embrace the present and persist by finding purpose and meaning in the struggle. 

I believe we all have a unique individual purpose in our lives, that there is no overarching “meaning” for being here. Our destiny is not predetermined by God, governments, teachers, or other authorities. There is nobody who can tell you what you’re “supposed to” do or care about in your life. It is decided by ourselves by taking the time to delve into who we are and what we truly want from this fleeting existence. For some people, they might decide their life is about helping others or doing the best they can, while others might find purpose in hard work or having as much fun as possible. For me, the overarching thing that gets me through every day and gives my life meaning is love. I find that it brings me happiness and allows me to be content. I find love for this life by filling every day with things I am passionate about. I find love in the sunlight filtering through the branches on a hot summer afternoon, or by reading an enthralling novel that allows me to discover love for myself, or from hugs from the people close to me.

If you feel as though I have, know you aren’t alone. While it may feel like your life has no meaning or there is no purpose for being here, know that there is. You just haven’t discovered it yet. It is never too late to decide what the guiding principles for life are to you. It doesn’t matter what other people tell you life is about, it’s the own unique meaning you ascribe to life that matters. Spend some time looking inside yourself. What do you value? What makes you feel fulfilled?

Your purpose is out there, you just have to seek it.