What’s the Point? (No, Seriously. What Is the Point?)
At some point, we’ve all stood in the shower, stared off into the void (or the shampoo bottle), and asked the big question:
“What’s the point of all this?”
Like, really. What’s the point of working? Of meal prepping chicken and rice like we’re training for the Olympics when the only race we’re running is to beat traffic? What’s the point of going to the gym, squeezing into shirts that are a little too tight (okay, maybe that’s just me), and checking credit scores like its the weather?
Asking “what’s the point?” is not a crisis—it’s actually a solid philosophical question, right up there with “Is cereal a form of soup?” and “Do dogs like me as much as I think they do?”
But seriously—what happens after you reach the goals?
You made the money. Lost the weight. Landed the promotion that requires 60 hours a week… which now requires 70 to maintain (and a personal assistant, a neck brace, and maybe a therapist-I know a good one). You bought the car. Paid off the student loans. Traveled to Italy and ate pasta that made those tight shirts even tighter in a different way. You’ve done The Things.
And then what?
At 25, I had this little existential meltdown (I think it’s called a quarter-life crisis). I realized I might not become a millionaire—despite my mother assuring me I could be anything I wanted to be, including the world-renowned biochemist I aspired to become after watching Outbreak at age nine. Thanks Dustin Hoffman.
I mean, sure, buying those new shoes felt good. And yes, the compliments on the designer outfit were nice—until I realized I still felt kind of… empty. Not sad, not broken. Just unsettled.
Now, some people find meaning in marathons, psychedelics, or finishing every episode of The Office (again). Others chase after this mysterious thing called “existential achievement” like it’s a Pokémon. And for many, the couch and a rerun of Seinfeld is more than enough—and hey, no shame if you’re still riding that DVD life.
But if you’re one of the curious ones—the ones who can’t shake the “What’s the point?” question no matter how many productivity podcasts or oat milk lattes you consume—then maybe it’s time to stop asking what the point is, and start asking why you’re even here.
Not to be dramatic, but… why do you exist? What was the reason for you being created in the first place?
If you ask an atheist, they might say we’re just floating on a rock, existing until we don’t—nothing more, nothing less. Which is philosophically interesting but doesn’t help you get out of bed on a Monday. (No offense, atheists—but seriously, how do you guys do it?)
Personally, I believe there’s a Creator—a higher Being who loves us into existence—and that gives me meaning. That awful Monday meeting? Purpose. That toddler tantrum in Target? Spiritual growth. That parking ticket? A lesson in patience.
Because if love is real, and God is love, then you are loved—on purpose. Not randomly, not accidentally. And that changes everything.
Achievements are fine. Financial freedom is lovely (at least I’ve heard that). But none of it will satisfy the soul. Not fully. Not for long.
So maybe the real question isn’t “What’s the point?”
It’s: “What am I here for?”
And “How can I live the most valuable life with the time I’ve got?”
If you start there, even the tight shirts start to make a little more sense.
From Where I Stand 
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