I had my first existential crisis long before I knew what the words meant.
I was a 5-year-old in kindergarten. I remember being alone at the front of our house on Holly Hill Drive in Atlanta. Something in my little brain was trying to figure out my place in the world.
I can’t tell you why. I doubt normal 5-year-olds have such thoughts, but I seriously pondered who I was and whether I mattered. The questions hung heavy on my little heart, because I desperately needed to matter.
Suddenly, I had an answer that somehow made sense to me. I was 5 years old — and there were five people in my family — so that coincidence had to mean something. I must be important.
All of my life, I’ve experienced one crisis of this sort after another. The specific questions change, but they all mean the same thing.
Do I matter? Do I matter to you? Do I belong with you? Are you my home? Can I trust you to love me?
Could ‘free cities’ — existing inside more restrictive states — be a first step toward freedom?
‘Tolerant’ left seethes with hate if you don’t accept ‘gender theory’
Epiphany: Was it so bad that I used to work toward perfection?
HUMOR: The senator chooses whether to live in heaven or hell
I just found out an ex got married – and I’m shocked to feel jealous
We fill life with noise because silence forces us to hear truth
Join me Tuesday for some live radio — if you can stomach an hour of me
Nobody can ever be good enough when perfection is the standard
Identity crisis might lead to integration of my inner selves