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?
If the kids are confused in school, maybe it’s the system and teachers
Let others be wrong if they want; it’s not your job to fix their errors
Why do Birmingham taxpayers give $500,000 yearly to college sports?
Just give us fake, happy smiles; who wants to hear your feelings?
VIDEO: Peaceful river reminds me we often miss the peace we crave
Dogs, cats and children remind me of all the joy in small things
My own question now faced me: ‘Would a healthy person do that?’
Briefly: Expect the unexpected as my site migrates to new servers this week