Perhaps There Is No Purpose of Life

My Chachu’s death has shaken me to the core. It has made me question something we spend much of our lives trying to understand: What is the purpose of life?

We are born, and one day we die, at any age, for any reason, sometimes peacefully and sometimes after immense suffering. Life can change without warning, leaving us with plans that will never be completed, words that will never be spoken, and a future that suddenly no longer exists.

So what is everything in between?

A few years after we are gone, most people will stop talking about us. A few generations later, even our names may be forgotten. Our homes will belong to someone else. The possessions we carefully collected will disappear or lose their meaning. Unless we do something extraordinary, or something terrible, history may never remember that we were here.

But should that matter?

Perhaps no grand purpose is waiting to be discovered. Perhaps life is not a problem we are supposed to solve or a legacy we must build. Perhaps the purpose of life is simply to live it while it is here.

To be fully present with the people we love. To laugh without guilt. To say what needs to be said. To stop postponing happiness until the work is finished, the finances are perfect, or life finally feels settled, because life may never feel settled.

Maybe a meaningful life is not measured by how long we are remembered, but by how deeply we loved and how honestly we lived. We may eventually be forgotten by the world. But while we are here, we can still make someone feel loved, safe, understood, and less alone.

And perhaps that is enough.