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?
Almost all of us feel alienation if we don’t find a place to call home
In bad times, human nature starts looking for some new scapegoats
Federal control of Internet security would put Barney Fife in charge
Steve Jobs goes out as iconoclastic visionary many of us long to be
Sometimes we should ignore idiots who yell about non-existent racism
Without hope for a better future, depression grabs us by the throat
If you think world is about logic, you misunderstand human nature
How can I make sense of a world that’s fundamentally nonsensical?