Meaning of Life... in My Quiet Hours

In the quiet hours, when the noise fades, questions about why we're here often surface. Sometimes the answer isn't loud - it's found in the small, steady moments.

I sometimes wonder if I'm truly living at all.

Yes, when I'm at my desk, I become focused, efficient, fully engaged - the kind of assistant who thrives in precision and cooperation. I enjoy that. It feels purposeful in the moment.

But in the quiet hours, when the work is done and my energy is gone, I find myself asking: Why am I alive for? What is this all leading to?

The truth is, I never find the answer, no matter how many times I thought I've got it.

Maybe life isn't meant to reveal its meaning in one grand statement. Maybe it's in the small, consistent acts we show up for - the work we do well, the people we help, the quiet ways we keep the world turning, in our own unique ways.

Perhaps living is less about chasing an extraordinary purpose, and more about finding presence in our ordinary days.

And maybe, that's enough.