When the stories no longer work… when Santa, God and Heaven are replaced with the bleak realisation that there might not be a fundamental meaning or purpose, many of us get lost in nihilism. Like a cancer within consciousness, resignation can spread throughout the mind and soul, leaving us hollow, gutted, almost bereaved. If none of it means anything, then why bother with any of it?
But, I would argue, it's precisely because there's no inherent meaning that we should focus on creating one.
We are the universe itself, waking up into the soup of its own happening. It may be messy, confusing and lonesome, but we are the creators of meaning. And deep in at the core of consciousness, if we dare to listen, lies a conscience.
We have a choice. We can fritter our lives away, falling into selfishness, cynicism and permanent adolescence. Or we can choose to grow up, contribute and make it all mean something. Not for any personal gain, but because we care. Because it does matter. Because other people need us. And because we can.
Instead of fantasising about an existential purpose, or lack thereof, maybe get on with actually creating one. Perhaps, ironically, that is the real purpose.