Met someone last month.
Billionaire. Private jet. Featured in magazines.
Everything society says equals success.
Standing alone on a balcony. Looking tired.
“Are you okay?”
They looked. Really looked.
“Do you ever wonder what the point of all this is?”
“All what?”
“Everything. Working. Achieving. Accumulating. I have everything I’m supposed to want. And I still don’t know why I’m here.”
A billionaire with an existential crisis.
You thought money can’t buy happiness was just something poor people said to feel better.
Turns out it’s true.
You’re ordinary. Middle-class. Normal life.
No private jets or magazine covers.
But you ask yourself the same question every day.
What is the meaning of life? Why am I here?
What’s the point?
Here’s the brutal truth.
Success provides no immunity from existential hunger.
Money doesn’t answer the question.
Fame doesn’t answer the question.
Achievement doesn’t answer the question.
Nothing answers the question.
Someone you know works a simple job. Has been for forty years.
You asked once: “Do you ever wonder about the meaning of life?”
They laughed. “Every day. Every single day. I do the same thing, it gets undone, I do it again. And I think: why? What’s it all for?”
“And what answer do you find?”
“No answer. Just the question. Over and over. The question that never leaves.”
The question is everywhere once you start listening.
The wealthy one: “I’ve made more money than I can spend. So what?”
The brilliant one: “I achieved everything I wanted. Who cares? What did any of it mean?”
The one with the perfect family everyone envies: “Sometimes I look at my life and think—is this it? Is this all there is?”
From billionaires to janitors.
From professors to laborers.
Everyone asking the same question.
What is the point of life? What is the purpose of life?
No one has the answer.
Awake at 3 AM. Staring at the ceiling.
Someone asks — “Can’t sleep?”
“Just thinking.”
“About what?”
“Why we’re here. What any of this means. If there’s a point to any of it.”
Silence. Then: “I think about that too. All the time.”
“You do?”
“Everyone does. We just don’t talk about it. We pretend we have answers so others won’t know we’re lost too.”
This is the secret.
Everyone is lost.
Everyone is searching.
Everyone is pretending they’re not.
Everyone is feeling lost in life, asking “what is the meaning of life?” while pretending they know.
Start asking people directly.
“Do you ever wonder about the meaning of life?”
Every single person: “All the time.”
The successful one: “Constantly. Especially when I achieve something I’ve been working toward. I think—now what? And realize the achievement didn’t answer anything.”
The struggling one: “I assumed if I succeeded, I’d feel differently. But I see successful people, and they’re just as lost as me.”
The young one: “I’m supposed to study hard, get good grades, get a good job. Then what? Get money? Then what? Get married? Then what? Have kids? Then what? Eventually die? Then what?”
Finding yourself doesn’t happen through achievement. It happens through asking the question that has no answer.
Everyone. Searching. Wondering. Questioning.
No one finding.
Here’s what you thought.
You thought you were unique in your struggles.
That others had it figured out.
That if you just achieved enough, earned enough, accomplished enough, you’d find the meaning you’re seeking.
Wrong.
Everyone is lost.
The ones with everything are lost.
The ones with nothing are lost.
The ones posting about their perfect lives — lost.
The ones posting about their purpose-driven existence — lost.
They’re posting the answers while experiencing the questions.
Showcasing purpose while feeling purposeless.
Performing certainty while drowning in uncertainty.
This is the isolation of the universal experience.
Everyone searching while believing they’re the only ones lost.
A child asks: “Why are we here?”
You give the answer you’re supposed to give.
They ask: “But why? Why that? Why anything at all?”
And there it is.
The same question in child form.
Why? What’s the point? Why anything at all?
You try to answer.
But the child sees through it.
“Do you know?”
Honest answer: “Sometimes I think I do. And sometimes I wonder, just like you.”
Meet that billionaire again.
“How are you?”
“Same. Still searching. Still wondering. Found any answers?”
“No. But I found something else.”
“What?”
“Everyone’s searching. You, me, the janitor, the award winner, the perfect family. All of us asking the same question.”
“Does that help?”
“Strangely, yes. Makes me feel less alone. Less like I’m failing at something others have mastered.”
Think about this.
You assumed successful people had it figured out.
That you were missing something obvious.
But they’re just as lost.
All of you are just humans.
Conscious beings asking why you’re conscious.
Existence questioning its own existence.
Someone older tells you:
“Maybe the searching is the point.”
“What do you mean?”
“Maybe we’re made to seek. Not to have already found, but to keep seeking. The search for meaning never ends. The question ‘what is the meaning of life’ is the point. It keeps us searching, reaching, trying to understand.”
“So we never find the answer?”
“We find moments of answer. Brief glimpses. Moments where everything makes sense. Holding a child and knowing this matters. But then the question returns. And we search again.”
Think about this.
The perpetual questioning as feature, not bug.
If you fully answered the existential question, would you stop searching?
Stop reaching?
Stop trying to understand?
Maybe the hunger itself is the gift.
The dissatisfaction that won’t let you settle.
The questioning that keeps you seeking.
Or maybe not.
Maybe it’s just torture.
An unanswerable question built into consciousness.
A cosmic joke.
Maybe life has no meaning and that’s the truth everyone’s afraid to admit.
Someone asks: “Do you think we’ll ever know? Really know why we’re here?”
“Maybe when we die. Maybe that’s when it all becomes clear.”
“And until then?”
“We search. We question. We do our best. We love. We serve. Not because we understand everything, but because we trust that it means something.”
“Even when it feels meaningless?”
“Especially then. That’s when faith matters most. That’s what some call spiritual awakening — not finding answers, but making peace with the question.”
Or maybe that’s just another comforting lie.
Maybe there is no meaning.
Maybe the search is pointless.
Maybe we’re just evolved apes asking questions that have no answers.
You don’t know.
Nobody knows.
Young people ask: “How do you find your purpose in life?”
You could give a motivational answer.
Find your passion. Follow your dreams. Make a difference.
But you tell the truth instead.
“I don’t know. I’m still searching. Everyone’s still searching. Your purpose isn’t something you find once and keep forever. It’s something you question, seek, glimpse, lose, and seek again.”
“That’s depressing.”
“Is it? Or is it honest? And maybe there’s comfort in knowing the richest, most successful person in the world is asking the same questions you are.”
Or maybe there’s no comfort.
Maybe it’s just depressing.
Maybe honesty offers nothing.
Tonight, you’re not searching for the answer.
You’re accepting the question.
Understanding that from billionaires to janitors, from prophets to philosophers, every conscious being who has ever lived has asked: “What is the meaning of life?”
And none of them found a satisfying answer.
The question connects you.
Makes you human.
Keeps you humble.
Reminds you that no achievement, no success, no accumulation will satisfy the soul’s hunger for meaning.
Some believe only something beyond this world can do that.
Some believe nothing can.
Some keep searching.
Some give up.
But everyone asks.
Billionaires and janitors.
Professors and students.
Parents and children.
All of you asking: What’s the point?
And all of you, whether you know it or not, reaching toward something.
Some call it God.
Some call it meaning.
Some call it purpose.
Some call it delusion.
You don’t know which is true.
You just keep asking.
Because here’s the final brutal truth.
The question might have no answer.
The search might be endless.
The hunger might never be satisfied.
You might die still asking.
Still wondering.
Still searching.
And that might be okay.
Or it might be tragic.
You don’t know.
But you keep asking anyway.
Because you can’t stop.
Because you’re conscious.
Because you’re human.
Because the question is built into you.
What’s the point?
No answer.
Just the question.
Always the question.
The question that never leaves.