A Kernel of Meaningfulness.

I'm always thinking existentially--where does meaning come from in this absurd world? Does life have meaning by itself? Do we create our own meaning?

I think it's probably some of both, but what I've been thinking lately is that life is inherently worthwhile.

It must be. Because being outside and looking up through the trees feels meaningful. And listening to music while you drive around angry and eat an ice cream cone feels meaningful. Feeling the hot sun on your skin feels meaningful.

Like, if you peeled back the physics and psychology and physiology of eating an ice cream cone, inside, left there, would be a kernel of meaningfulness.

In the moments of quiet when you peel back the layers, there is something comforting about knowing that life need not be happy because it is already meaningful.