What Is Life Anyway? Reflection in Seasons of Loss

I didn’t set out to write about the meaning of life today. It wasn’t a conscious decision at all; I was cornered into it. It happened that this morning, while scrolling through my social media, just trying to escape my thoughts, I stumbled upon this post. A friend had posted this heart-wrenching question, one that has always been asked for centuries now:

“What is even the meaning of life?” Although it was phrased more as “What is this life anyway?”

No context needed. I knew there was a loss involved. In the recent past, I can count on my fingers, all of them, deaths that have happened which I personally connect to. One after another, like a cruel rhythm. Funerals that came too soon. And now, the deceased’s names have turned into memories. Smiles we’d never see again, except in photos.

When life forces us to confront death more often than we can bear, questions like that rise with a substantive weight.

It was as though that one question, not directed at me for sure, spiralled me into reflective thinking. There are these questions I’ve carried quietly but only dared ask out in whispers.

What are we doing here?
Why do we wake up each morning and keep going, despite knowing how fragile we are, or life itself is?
And now, what is life anyway?

I closed the app shortly after reading the post. But the questions lingered throughout the day. I even looked beyond the loss of death and extended to loss in a general sense, albeit within the context of life and its meaning.

The Philosopher’s Cradle of Life is What We Create

Philosophers have spent lifetimes wrestling with the same mystery I am exploring today. With each perspective, we have been left with what looks like answers, yet a deeper look reveals them as being more like invitations.

Some argue(d) that life has no built-in meaning, and that this is not a tragedy but a freedom. If the universe refuses to dictate our purpose, then we hold the tools. We carve meaning into existence through our decisions, relationships, and values.

“We are condemned to be free,” Sartre wrote. This freedom condemnation is not a punishment, but a challenge. In fact, to be denied this freedom is an act of bad faith.

So, I think of the choices I’ve made, the times I walked away from comfort for growth, the people I stayed for, even when staying was hard, the moments I dared to believe in something better. Perhaps those have been the markers of my purpose.

Even then, philosophy also recognises a deeper layer of meaning, one born from connection. It suggests that life is fundamentally relational. Meaning is found in the bridge between “you” and “me”.  In that space, that bridge, resides empathy, trust, and care.

Thus, we could say that life becomes meaningful when we live it with others.

Maybe that’s why death shakes us so violently, because it threatens not just existence, but connections too.

Science and Its Astonishing Miracle of Just Being Here

If we view life through the lenses of science, it becomes a set of biological functions constrained to cells, tissues, organs and organ systems, systematically modelling a living organism.  We think of cell division, hearts beating, neurons firing and hormones dictating our responses. Scientifically, we are complex organisms fuelled by instinct, chemistry, and adaptive drive.

We exist because life insists on continuity. Arguably, all of us are products of survival through an unbroken chain of ancestors who endured hunger, storms, diseases, and wars. We inherited the best genes, supposedly.

Just like that, we became the triumph of persistence.

Even more astonishingly, we are composed of atoms. These functional units of matter are incredibly small and invisible to us.  Our bodies, the hands that write, the eyes that weep, the hearts that break, the mind that thinks, are so complex that we are still grappling to understand them. We will still be making discoveries about them in the years to come.

Could we say, scientifically, that we are just a composition of macromolecules that somehow learned to ask “why?”

If survival is the scientific purpose, then in every breath is a compliance with nature’s directive to us to grow, to adapt, and to continue. Life is a continuation. Giving it to the next generation and the next generation to the next one, and so on.

Let us not forget there’s also beauty in simplicity. If survival is purpose enough for every other species, suppose we argue it is the most basic purpose of all, why do humans demand more? Maybe then, the human need for meaning is itself a sign of life’s brilliance. Think of it as life gifting us curiosity as an instinctive survival resource, too.

We seek answers because seeking keeps us alive.

Religion’s Hope That Our Lives Are Part of a Larger Story

I was raised a Christian, and like many people, I’ve borrowed from faith most times, especially when reality felt too heavy to hold alone. Remember the clarion call: “Come to me all ye that labour and are heavy laden…” (Matthew 11:28-29) “Come and drink from this well that shall never run dry…” (John 4:14-14).

Religion, in all its forms, offers a comforting narrative: We are created, first of all. Intentionally, for that matter, and not abstractly accidental. We are guided spiritually. Also, there is an eternal promise to our existence.

Within this context, loss, then, is not the end of the book, but merely a chapter break.

This perspective reminds me of a song that nudges us that life, at best, is very brief, like the falling of a leaf.

“Fairest flowers soon decay,
Youth and beauty pass away,
Oh, you have not long to stay,

Be in time, be in time.”

In terms of Religion, our life belongs to God. The source of our being.

That is not all, belief gives suffering context. If our lives belong to something greater, then even a heartbreak is not meaningless; it is transformative. It shapes our souls for a destination we cannot yet comprehend. It could be part of the curriculum, shaping our beliefs, such as faith.

Faith can be tested in times of loss and during heartbreaking moments, but most of us, I believe, desire life to matter on a level beyond the physical. We want a life beyond the current tribulation. We want the reunion with our loved ones gone before us to be possible.

Sometimes, then, faith is simply the refusal to believe that endings are final. Hoping in the things yet seen, but having the peace and assurance of them beforehand.

My Personal Thought of Life’s Meaning Found in Everyday Acts

After exploring all the grand explanations, the intellectual, the biological, the spiritual, I come back to the one place where I can own the monopoly of thought: my own life.

Meaning is not always a revelation. Often, it is subtle and intimate. The voice of someone who says “I’m here” when I am at my wits’ end. The relief of a friend’s laughter after weeks of silence. The strength I didn’t know I had until life demanded it. The warmth of being remembered. The courage of trying again after failure. The confidence of belief after suffering emotional breaks.

Purpose hides in ordinary moments. Reaching out softly, but persistently.

The meaning of life is the fact that we seek it at all.

We feel driven to contribute, to love, to be loved, to be understood. We crave significance not in fame, but presence. We want someone to be glad we existed. We want to know that we matter and our absence will be felt.

So, when I think of my friend’s question this morning, I don’t see despair; I see longing.
A longing to know that this isn’t all for nothing.
A longing to believe that the ache has purpose, interesting, huh!
A longing to feel like we matter, even if the world may be indifferent.

And in that longing, I see life’s meaning reflected clearly.

So, What Is Life Anyway?

Life is terrifyingly short, and yet astonishingly full.

It is laughter right next to sorrow. I know of someone who passed away today, and they posted on their social media yesterday.
It is vulnerability disguised as bravery. That Desperation coated as confidence.
It is loving people who will one day leave us, and loving them anyway. You must have walked through this already, I suppose.

But perhaps life does not owe us a single definition.
Perhaps its meaning evolves as we do.

Right now, for me, life is the privilege of waking up and trying again. The beauty of a connection that teaches me who I am. The resilience to grow through pain. The gratitude of simply existing, even without answers.

Life is not the certainty of purpose, but the pursuit of it. In retrospect, we are alive not because we understand life, but because life asks us to keep searching – to keep asking what it is. And that, I’m beginning to believe, is the meaning.

So, to my friend, and to anyone who has ever felt shaken by grief or overwhelmed by the mystery of existence, your question is not a sign of weakness. It is a sign that you are profoundly alive.

And maybe that is it. That is the point.