The Search for Meaning

I spend a fair amount of time thinking about the meaning of life. This is not unusual. It seems that nearly everyone has to come to terms with this question, wrestle with it a bit until they finally settle on an answer that gives them peace and allows them to go forward with life. Humanity has spent quite a lot of time dealing with this question as well--differing philosophies and religious belief systems attempt as best they can to provide an answer, though there has never been agreement as to what the meaning of life is. It also seems to me to be intrinsically linked to the question of what constitutes a good life, for certainly to have had a good life one must have understood what the meaning was. We, collectively and individually, search for a meaning to life that we can take as our own, one that gives us purpose and helps us make sense of the cold and chaotic universe we inhabit, where looking at the vastness of it all seems to mock the very idea that there is meaning and purpose to life. 

The very fact that so many different candidates have been put forward for "the meaning of life," seems to me to indicate that asking for the meaning of life is a pointless endeavor at best. If we are searching for the one and true universal meaning of life, one that applies to all of humanity, then there isn't one. With the great variety of human experience, how can there be one that works for all seven billion of us? Instead, we should be asking what the meaning of our own life is, rather than life in general. Even then, narrowed down to just ourselves, the question is still a difficult one. How can we possibly decide that there is a single meaning to our own lives, whether one provided to us or one that we come to on our own? We look for the answer to this question, sometimes with a fervor that would be frightening were it turned to another purpose. I think we're all afraid that there simply isn't a meaning to be found, that life itself is without meaning and purpose. 

We look outside ourselves for the answer to this question, but in looking outside ourselves we are looking in the wrong place for the answer. The answer isn't going to be handed to us, chiseled on a stone tablet, the answer has to come from within. As hard as it is, only we can decide what the meaning of our life is--no one else can tell us what it is. It doesn't have to be a grand and noble purpose, though it could be. Even the smallest things can give life meaning for us, meaning that we create for ourselves to make life bearable. We can try to make someone's day better, in the most basic way, by being kind and courteous, helping someone in need. We can take satisfaction in a job well done or a piece played on an instrument with a minimum of error. There are myriad different ways that we can bring meaning to our lives, from little reasons to big ones. But we have to find those reasons; that, I think, is the key. It is a frightening thought, that we alone are ourselves responsible for bringing meaning. That we can't wait for someone else to tell us what our meaning is. At the same time, however, it is also an exciting and hopeful prospect.