What’s the Point: Wrestling with Life’s Biggest Question

Is there a heavier question than “what’s the point?” I don’t think so. It’s the one that sits under all the others, isn’t it? It is. And it feels like a natural place to go after last week. We were so deep in the weeds on free will, on whether our choices are even our own. And it just keeps leading me back to… well, if we do get to choose, what are we choosing for? What’s the destination? Or is there a destination at all? Maybe that’s the assumption we need to check. That life is a journey with a purpose, rather than just… a thing that is.

See, that’s where I get stuck. Because the idea of it just being feels… empty. I feel this constant, quiet pull to make it mean something. To build something with my days. To build, or to discover? I think that’s one of the first forks in the road on this question. Is meaning something that’s already out there, inherent in the universe, waiting for us to find it? Like a law of physics? A kind of cosmic scavenger hunt. Right. Or is life an empty canvas, and meaning is the paint we choose to apply?

We create it through our actions, our relationships, our work. I think I lean towards the empty canvas idea. It feels more… I don't know, more active. More human. The alternative, that there’s one true meaning out there and I might be getting it wrong… that’s a lot of pressure. But if we’re the ones painting, doesn’t that also mean the meaning is… arbitrary? That it’s just a story we tell ourselves? A useful fiction to get us through the day? Oh, that’s… yeah. That’s the hard part. If I decide my meaning is found in, say, human connection, and you decide yours is in solitude and study… are they both equally valid?

And if my connections fade, does my life lose its meaning? Mm-hm. It makes meaning feel fragile. Dependent on circumstances we can’t always control. Which, I think, is why some people find comfort in the other view—that meaning is bigger than us. That it’s tied to a deity, or to the progress of humanity, or to nature. Something that will exist with or without you. Something that can’t be taken away. But what if the premise is wrong? What if there IS no meaning to find, and creating it is just an illusion?

Some philosophers would say that’s the starting point. The universe is silent. It doesn’t care about you. The absurd. The idea that we’re these meaning-seeking creatures dropped into a universe that offers none. That’s a cold thought. It is. But the response isn’t necessarily despair. The response can be rebellion. To accept the absurdity, to stare into the meaningless void and… create meaning anyway. To love, to build, to experience joy, not because it serves some grand cosmic purpose, but because you choose for it to be your purpose.

So the meaning of life… is to give life a meaning. Even knowing it’s a construct. Exactly. The act of creating it is the point. The struggle itself is the meaning. That feels… closer to something I can hold. It’s not an answer written in the stars. It’s a choice you make every morning. It puts it all back on us, which is terrifying, but also… empowering? It returns the responsibility to you. Which brings us right back to free will, doesn’t it? If we have the freedom to choose our actions, maybe our greatest freedom is choosing what those actions are for.

So maybe the question isn’t “What is the meaning of life?” Maybe it’s… “What meaning will I make today?” It’s smaller. It’s more manageable. And it’s a question you can actually live inside. You don’t have to solve the whole cosmic riddle. You just have to answer for your own small piece of it. And maybe answering it, day by day… by showing up for people, by creating something beautiful, by just… paying attention… maybe that’s all it ever was. Not a single, grand answer. But a thousand small ones.