At just five years old, I thought my daughter’s biggest worries would revolve around what I would pack for her lunch or her latest obsession with elusive toys like Shopkins. However, she recently surprised me with a profound question:
“Mom, why am I here? What’s the purpose of my existence?”
Not only did her reference to “this world” initially throw me off (Are there other worlds she’s aware of? Should I be brushing up on my Star Wars lore?), but her words struck a deep chord within me. Lately, she’s been so troubled by this mini existential crisis that sleep has become elusive. Watching her grapple with such heavy thoughts is heartbreaking, and I can’t help but feel the same way. Life can be daunting, and I’m not afraid to admit that when anxiety strikes at night, I find solace in my husband’s reassuring presence. But how can I possibly offer comfort to my young daughter about a world that feels so intimidating?
When she first posed her question, just after her bath, with her freshly washed hair and favorite pajamas adorned with princesses, I was taken aback.
Is she genuinely contemplating this? I thought. Five-year-olds shouldn’t be worrying about the meaning of life!
Yet, here she was, and I suspect she shares my tendency to overthink everything. I remember being her age, lying awake at night, consumed with fear over the concept of eternity, which I ultimately decided was just terrifying. I’d tiptoe down the hallway to my parents’ room, where my dad was blissfully unaware of my distress, and my mom would quietly urge me to return to bed with her half-asleep voice.
Revisiting those memories of my own childhood fears made me feel an overwhelming desire to comfort my daughter, my sensitive little girl, who is already facing life’s toughest questions halfway through her first year of school. Why are we here? What is the purpose of it all?
I wish I could confidently provide her with answers. The scared little girl I was has grown into a woman and mother who still seeks understanding, now parenting a child who mirrors my own introspective nature. That child grew up clinging to prayer and the hope of a clear path to happiness, but now I find myself at a crossroads between belief and skepticism. I long to see the goodness in the world while wishing faith came as easily as following a straightforward recipe (which, ironically, I’m not great at, having once forgotten to add chicken to a pot pie).
As I stood there, searching for the right words, I shared with her the only truth I could muster—something I believed would resonate with her in the stillness of the night.
“You’re here because we needed someone like you to love,” I said. “You’re here to share your love with us, your siblings, and even your brother, despite his stinky feet.” That got a giggle! “You’re here to love cookies, hot chocolate, Christmas, the water park, and trips to grandma’s house.”
In essence, I told her the core of our existence is simple: to love and to be loved. I wish I had all the answers. I can’t emphasize enough how much I wish I could provide certainty for both her and myself. But I’ve come to believe that even amidst uncertainty and doubt, love remains the answer. At least, it’s the only assurance I have.
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In summary, while I may not have all the answers to life’s big questions, I believe that the essence of our existence ultimately revolves around love—both in giving and receiving it.
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