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?
Without empathy and persistence, high IQ is just a cheap parlor trick
I keep forgetting that I can’t save those who don’t want to be saved
Assassin or patsy? How can you trust any of the players in this case?
Don’t be shocked if insane system produces narcissistic leaders
That huge fed debt increase? They’ve already used 60 percent of it
When I’ve done something great, nothing seems impossible to me
Insanity is part of being human – and we’re all potentially unstable
Student scolded for saving a life; School doesn’t ‘condone heroics’