It's strange, isn't it? How we live with so many questions, so much uncertainty, and yet we keep going. Not because we've found the answers, but because we've learned how to live without them. Life, in all its chaos and beauty, doesn't wait for us to figure it out. It just is. And maybe that's enough. Maybe it's not about the answers at all.
People talk about purpose as though it's something waiting to be discovered, like a treasure buried just beneath the surface. But what if purpose is something we invent? Something we build out of the pieces of our lives—the joy, the pain, the silence, the noise? Is it less real because we made it up? Or does that make it even more ours?
We live in a world full of contradictions. We crave connection, yet we guard our solitude. We seek joy, yet we're comforted by sadness. We fear death, yet sometimes we long for the peace it seems to bring. The truth is, there's no escaping these contradictions. They're woven into the fabric of who we are. And so, we live with them, trying to make sense of what can't be understood. Do we need to? Is it so wrong to simply exist without knowing why?
And then there's the suffering—the endless, inevitable pain that life brings. We carry it like a shadow, pretending it isn't there, or fighting to cast it off. But suffering is stubborn. It clings to us, shapes us, teaches us in ways we'd rather avoid. Does it have a purpose? Does it make us stronger, wiser, better? Or is it just a cruel joke, a byproduct of existing in a world that doesn't care? Perhaps it's neither. Perhaps it just is.
People find beauty in strange places. In a sunset, in a child's laughter, in the way the rain sounds against the window. But there's a price for beauty. There's always a price. That sunset wouldn't be so breathtaking if it wasn't fleeting. The laughter wouldn't be so sweet if it didn't fade. Everything we love, everything we cherish, comes with the knowledge that it will end. And yet, we love anyway. We cherish anyway. Isn't that the most human thing of all?
Right and wrong, good and evil—they seem so simple when we're young. But the older you get, the more the lines blur. What's right for one person can be wrong for another. What seems good today might seem evil tomorrow. Is there such a thing as absolute morality? Or are we all just stumbling through the dark, doing the best we can with what we have?
The funny thing is, none of this has to make sense. We don't have to solve the puzzle of existence to live it. We don't have to justify our choices to anyone but ourselves. Whatever keeps you going—whether it's love or ambition, faith or rebellion—that's your truth. That's your answer, even if it only makes sense to you.
Millions of questions remain unanswered, and that's okay. Not every question needs an answer. Not every thought needs to lead somewhere. The world is full of patterns, cycles, expectations—but you don't have to follow them. You don't have to fit into the mold this world has made for you. You can just be.
Want everything or want nothing. Chase dreams or let them go. Succeed or fail, love or lose, rise or fall. It's all okay. There's no right way to live, no perfect path to follow. You're not here to meet anyone's expectations, not even your own. You're here simply to exist, to be whatever and whoever you are.
Life is a mess—a beautiful, tragic, incomprehensible mess. And in that mess, there's something sacred. Not because it's meaningful, but because it's yours. So take it. Live it. Love it. Or don't. It's all okay. Everything is okay.
And maybe that's the closest thing to an answer we'll ever get.