Why do we exist? The question sounds ancient, even impossible — yet it lingers behind everything we do. We search for meaning in love, in work, in creation, as if somewhere beneath the noise there lies an answer waiting to be found. But perhaps meaning is not something given to us; perhaps it is something we continuously build, moment by moment, through the act of living itself.
Existence rarely offers clarity. The universe appears vast and indifferent — a field of causes and effects unfolding without purpose. And yet, within that indifference, consciousness awakens, asks, feels, and hopes. From that awakening, meaning begins. It is not a universal law written in the stars, but a fragile thread woven through our experiences — through the choices we make and the connections we form.
Philosophers like Camus called this tension “the absurd” — the clash between our need for significance and the silence of the world. But even within that silence, he found revolt: the courage to live as if meaning could be created, to choose defiance over despair. In that act of choosing, existence itself becomes meaningful.
Perhaps, then, the meaning of existence does not lie in what we discover, but in what we dare to create. Life is not a question with an answer, but a canvas of becoming — each thought, each act, each breath a stroke upon it. Meaning is not found at the end of the search; it is the search.
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