Letters to My Child, I

What is the meaning of life?

My child,

I am writing this in anticipation of a perhaps unfortunate world.

I did not always want to have a child. It was not obvious to me that life was a gift worth giving, not with all the catastrophes that seem to await us. But in recent years, I’ve had a change of heart. I’ve come to believe the world will be better than ever. And I want to be there. I want to raise you.

The unfortunate world is simply the one where I don’t get to. What happens to me then, I wonder? I hope whoever raises you does it well. Maybe your mother. If not her, one of my closest friends, someone I trust to bring you into the world.

It would be a shame not to prepare for this. One in twenty children lose a parent before they turn sixteen. So let me leave you what wisdom I have. Wisdom I am sure you will only fully grasp as you get older. Keep these letters for when your times are tough, when the days are long.

You may have the riches of the world in your hands, but I suspect you will still struggle for meaning, even in a world full of infinities.

What does it all mean?

So this is where I will start.

Nothing. This is an easy answer to have. Your life means nothing. Can you get comfortable with that for me? Perhaps sit with it. Gently come over to the side that your life has no grand significance. Once you’re comfortable, if you’ve ever had a meaning in your life, think about how you got there. Did you just invent it? Why do you think this and not something else?

But actually, this is a bit sad. A bit lame, if you’ll excuse my French.

So let me try something else for size.

Love. There is nothing more to life than letting love into your belly. Full and heavy, you’ll walk so slowly, because you are loved. Love is ineffable. Can you eat love? Is it mere chemicals? Oxytocin running, making your body feel easy, so comfortable? ‘But isn’t love just another way to describe happiness?’ I hear you ask.

Perhaps, but for a moment here let us distinguish these things a little bit. Love and happiness. Love makes you feel powerful, it gives you vigour, the ability to do things you never knew you could. That is what love is. Happiness is soft, leaves brush your face, and happiness is when you can die peacefully, but with love, oh no no, with love you want to live forever!

Oh okay, this is too hardy-dardy. Fair enough. What? Happiness? I am not so sure I want to endorse happiness as the meaning of life. For one, you perhaps live in a world where it is easier than ever to be happy. Drugs that can turn the switch on. Experience machines, and still you are yearning for something, are you not? Life is nothing without struggle. Struggle. Struggle. The meaning of life is struggle.

It’s a bit cool to struggle, is it not? Do kids still say ‘edgy’? You put in effort. What more could you want than to feel like you earned it? That your life was Sisyphean. Only then can you feel okay. But do you know when to stop? Where is your brake pedal in this world? You won’t have one.

So can you get comfortable? Because life is everything. My smile when you take your first steps. When the dinosaurs died.

Speak soon,
Dad.