The Thinking Sapling

It seems almost natural to be striving toward something—a purpose or achievement that would make life feel complete. Yet everything shares one truth: it ends. Wealth fades, trouble comes, and life is fleeting.

That everything ends raises a haunting question: what’s the point? If wealth disappears, why chase it? If people die, why love them? If life itself slips away, why cherish any of it?

We are, after all, insignificant blips in time. Whatever we build will be undone—by mistake or by erosion. As time stretches on, our actions grow weightless to the world. The very urge to give them meaning starts to look like vanity. Vanity, because in the face of oblivion, even our pride fades away.

If we continue to insist on purpose—what exactly are we striving toward? What cosmic law has declared that our lives should matter? There is no grand truth or decree. We decide what matters, usually by clinging to whatever eases the void. Meaning, it seems, is just our favorite illusion.

Here we are: thrown into an existence that won’t last, watching the old weather away, knowing we too will fade. And yet—we care.

We care that the food is warm. We care that the people we love come home safely. We care, even when it hurts; especially when it hurts.

I recall visiting my late great-grandmother at the hospital about a year ago. She couldn’t speak, nor could she move. At ninety-nine years old, her health was deteriorating rapidly, and there was nothing we could do to stop it.

But I noticed her eyes followed me and my family. Even in that small white room, struggling to breathe, she cared to look. We couldn’t help but be touched. In such moments, it might be tempting to say that nothing mattered—but something clearly did.

That care is stubborn, illogical, and beautiful. It defies every argument for nihilism. It is not a grand answer, but maybe it’s the one we need. In a world without fixed meaning, we live by the ones we see. And often, we choose through care. It doesn’t resolve our futility, but yet it exists.

Maybe that’s enough.