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?
At what point does a president become a dictator to be impeached?
New segregation: Why do some people cling to racial politics?
FRIDAY FUNNIES
Are we destined to become our parents? Or can we be different?
I don’t allow comments anymore, and I’d like to briefly explain why
The so-called ‘social contract’ just means ‘the rest of us own you’
In bad times, human nature starts looking for some new scapegoats
Material things can be replaced, but loved ones worth far more
Need for love drives behaviors; for me, old needs make me eat