
I was watching some Sadhguru wisdom this morning on YouTube when a little girl had the honor of asking the final question of the night. In her sweet little voice, as respectful as she could muster, she asked, “Everybody has a limited amount in this life…but if you are trying to teach everyone something…then everyone's gonna pass away soon so…what's the point?"
I feel you, little girl. I’ve been asking myself that same question. Acting out the routines of daily life, chasing after things, and doing things that feel so trivial compared to everything happening in the world—when did life become so small? What’s the point? And I don’t mean this morbidly, though it may sound that way. For me, it’s more of a reflective, universal question, one I’m sure many of us think about from time to time.
A Walk in Brooklyn: Clemens’s Question
This isn’t the first time I’ve been confronted with such a profound question. Years ago, while caring for two young kids in Brooklyn, I had a moment that planted the very same question in my mind—and has stayed with me since. It was an ordinary, blue-sky day. The kids had just been let out of school, and as we walked home hand in hand, five-year-old Clemens looked up at me and asked, “What’s the world for?”
I loved philosophical thinking. I’d read so many articles and books, watched hundreds of talks on existentialism. Yet in that moment, I realized I had absolutely nothing. I was completely unprepared for such a big question from such a tiny person. I turned to six-year-old Leo on my left, who saved the day with his simplicity and wisdom. He shrugged and said: “It’s for life and nature.” Clemens casually accepted that answer with an “okay,” and we walked on, but the question had planted its seed in my mind.
What Is the World For?
For months after, I found myself casually bringing it up in conversations with friends: “Hey, so…what do you think the world’s for?” Eventually, I gave Clemens my own answer, as cliche as it might’ve been: “The world is for love.” At the time, I wasn’t even sure I fully understood what I meant by that. But I know that when I’m with the people I love—when I feel that deep connection, joy, and gratitude—those moments make life worth living, no matter the reason behind it all.
Be Like the Bird
There’s a scene from the series Messiah that I often think about when I’m grappling with questions like this. In it, a man many believed to be the chosen one describes a bird drinking melted frost on a summer morning. His followers, who weren’t there because they were called but because they were searching—empty in their own lives and hoping to find meaning in what they believed to be a divine revelation—were asking him, “What’s next?” and his response was simple: the bird didn’t need to know what the frost was doing there in the middle of August, or where the frost came from or why; it just drank what it could and moved on.
That message struck me deeply. So much of our suffering seems tied to the need for answers—why we’re here, or what’s coming next. But maybe if we lived more like that bird—accepting life’s mysteries and taking each moment as it comes—we could find a little more peace. Still, even if we let go of the need for answers, it’s impossible to ignore that life is often marked by suffering.
Suffering, Joy, and the Point of It All
I remember a conversation from my days working at a bar. A customer shared a quote, saying life is “mostly suffering with moments of joy.” At the time, I pushed back hard. I wanted to believe life was more joyful, more balanced. But over the years, I’ve revisited that idea, especially during difficult times. Maybe suffering is part of what makes joy so profound. Without one, could we even recognize the other?
So, what’s the point? The best answer I’ve been able to come up with is this: Life is for experiencing it.
Maybe we’re here to witness the beauty and endure the pain. Maybe we’re here as parts of some divine creation, living out the physical realm. As much as it hurts sometimes, I’m grateful I get to be here at all.
Of course, I couldn’t explain all of this to Clemens back then. When I told her I’d figured out the answer to her question—that the world is for love—she gave me a little shrug and said, “Okay. And when was Santa Claus born?”
And just like that, we were off on our next existential journey.
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