What is the point of living life?

Is it natural to start asking “what is the point of living on this earth?” At the young age of six?

Is that when those kinds of questions start?
I wonder because I know I started asking them when I was five years old and my mom died.

My son said, “what is the point to just come here grow old and die?”

I said, “the point is to make the best of the time you have here.”

We continued talking about it and I’m sure this is the beginning of many conversations. These are the conversations I live for, the questions I wonder the most about.

What is the point of all of this?

These bodies?
The physical and emotional suffering we endure?
Waking up to work and make money to just go to sleep and do it all over again.
What is the point of having these bodies on this earth?
Who sent us here?
Did we send us here?
Do our spirits really have lessons to learn or is this all just one big mess?
Is there order or is it all chaos?
Who chooses how much time we get?
Who decides how much pain we will endure and how much love we will get to experience?
Are there decisions made between our souls before we get here?

Where does the soul go after death?

Poets, writers, mystics, religions, so many try to answer these questions and yet we will never know until we die.

Maybe that’s why in many ways I envy death, not because I’m in a rush to get there, not now anyway. Not now that I have this family I’ve dreamed of my whole life.

No I envy the dead because I imagine they feel peace, they see the bigger picture, they are a part of the cosmic chaos and miracle. They get to play as spirits and interact with this world in a way that feels epic and magical to us.

Do the dead envy us or pity us?
Do they not know envy or pity?
Do they feel emotions?
Do they float around feeling complete bliss until they decide to go get a human body and start feeling emotions and suffering again?
Is it all this cyclical dance?

I can’t just believe when we die that’s it.

Maybe it’s the dreamer and story teller in me. One of the main reasons I stuck with writing a novel series for a decade was because I was grappling with these questions and building a world that answered them.

Maybe it’s too sad to have a mom that died at 23 and to think that was it. 23 years and she’s done, forever.

Maybe it’s because of the magical touch she has over my life. The way she talks to me still. The secrets we share. The messages she sends me.

Maybe it’s because one life doesn’t seem close to long enough to figure out how to live fully with these earth bodies.

Anyway, to all the moms out there with kids or people out there who know and spend time with children, when did they start asking these questions?

When did you start asking these questions?
Did you ever stop asking them?
Did you find the answers that satisfied you and decide you know what comes next?

What an interesting thing to believe we know what comes next…..

Love Always,

Danielle Mallett