What does it mean to live? I have been giving this question sense in my own way. A philosopher can offer one answer, a writer another, and every person you meet seems to carry a different truth. No matter how you go about it, there never seems to be a single answer. There are many. Maybe that is what makes living so fascinating. It refuses to fit inside one definition.
Living feels like stepping into the abyss, where everything can seem like nothing, yet somehow nothing becomes something. We search for meaning, only to realize that meaning changes with us. Maybe living is not about finding the answer at all. Maybe it is about learning to exist with the questions, and finding pieces of ourselves in every answer we come across.
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