When I was in kindergarten, life felt meaningless.
“Is this all there is?” I asked myself, sadly.
My parents didn’t understand. “We bought you (another) pretty dress! Why are you still not happy?”
I became a philosopher at the ripe old age of Nine– the beginning of a quest for meaning that lasted 20+ years. Nietzsche and Kant were my besties, Indian gurus and Peruvian shamans my go-to guides.
Did I become more profound? Yes.
Happier? No.
One day I took a pill that boosted BNDF (google it). Whoa! I was calm and happy overnight. The meaning-of-life question didn’t came up for a week. I was too busy living.
I realized what I had for 30 yrs was a text-book chronic depression. Stress overworked the limbic system of my brain. Overtime the latter stopped processing experience properly.
That manifests as sadness, anxiety, loss of interest, and… a constant quest for the “life purpose”.
Where did the stress come from? I was in kindergarten.
Two things.
1) I was and am energetically sensitive. My system processes 30% more stimuli than average person (read: more work for the CPU).
2) I was raised a self-critical perfectionist. Nothing was good enough. Had to prove my worth every 5 mins.
The cure (in descending order of importance):
- a) Rest. Your brain needs to regularly recover from stress. Give it plenty of sleep and feed it good nutrition.
- b) De-stress. You are always under more stress than you realize. By the time you realize it, it’s way too much.
- c) Love. Give it to yourself. Be generous.
My search for meaning was priceless. I learned so much. But it was solving the wrong problem.
You don’t need to know the purpose of life. But you definitely need more sleep 😴