The Meaning of Life and the Meaning in Life

We may never uncover life’s cosmic purpose, but we can still shape our own meaning — through connection, purpose, and conscious daily choices.

We may never know why we are here. But we can choose how to be here

Arun Kumar

Summary: This essay explores the distinction between the meaning of life — a metaphysical inquiry into our cosmic purpose — and meaning in life, the pursuit of personal fulfillment through daily experiences. By separating the unknowable from the actionable, we give our agency a chance to craft purpose, joy, and meaning within our finite existence.

There is a persistent tension woven into the human psych. We not merely have the need to exist (and exist without a feeling of emptiness), but we also have a deeper urge to understand what that existence is for. Simply being often feels insufficient; our consciousness complicates the matter by asking what that our being is for.

This tension crystallizes into a deceptively simple question: What is the meaning of life? That question contrasts with a different question about what would make our existence feel meaningful. To engage with these questions, however, one must first clarify their scope.

The question about the meaning of life is a metaphysical question that seeks our place within the workings of vast cosmos, and also, the meaning of cosmos itself. The other question about the meaning in life is an introspective search for feeling a purpose in the context of activities that shape the contours of our daily existence.

To conflate these inquiries is to blur the boundary between cosmic significance and personal fulfillment while we exist. By distinguishing them, we can begin a more nuanced exploration: one that considers both our existential position in the universe and whether the span between birth and death feels imbued with purpose, direction, agency, and fulfillment.

The Meaning of Life: A Cosmic Inquiry

The question of the meaning of life is old, vast, and perhaps unanswerable (and my own perspective, tilts towards that there is no inherent meaning). This question is in the domain of metaphysics, theology, and speculative philosophy. It asks: Why does life exist at all? Is there a purpose to the universe, or to human consciousness? Are we part of a divine plan, a virtual reality simulation, or an inevitable consequence of random unfolding of matter and energy within the guardrails of laws of “physics”?

The question is not entirely academic but also has practical consequences. It is the question that leads to sleepless minds or to dark thoughts at 3am in the morning when we lie awake. It drives religious devotion. It fuels existential despair about the meaning of our ephemeral existence.

To seek the meaning of life is to ask whether life has intrinsic purpose; whether there is a reason we are here that transcends our individual stories. It is a question that often leads to bafflement, or to myths, or to faith. And yet, even in its elusiveness, it constantly shapes an inner longing for resolve.

The Meaning in Life

In contrast, the meaning in life is not concerned with telos of consciousness but with our personal significance in the context of our day-to-day life. It asks: What makes this life worth living? What makes me get out of bed? Where, and in what activities, do I find joy, connection, or purpose?

This question is the realm of lived experience and whether my consciousness finds that lived experience engaging and life does not feel empty.

The meaning in life is found in the small and the specific: the thrill of creation, the connection in friendship, in sharing a glass of wine, in renting a house along the beach for a week and inviting family and friends to come over and be together. It is found in the rituals we craft, the stories we tell. It is not a question of why we exist, but of how we choose to exist. The consequences of this question exercise our agency and choices we make.

Why Distinction Matters

To confuse the two is to risk paralysis. If we wait to discern the meaning of life in the same vein as the meaning in life, we may find ourselves adrift, or worse, totally miss out on an opportunity of having a meaning in life while trying to grapple with the much tougher (or perhaps, insolvable) problem of understanding the meaning of life. But if we recognize that meaning in life can be cultivated independently in the absence of cosmic answers, instead of being paralyzed, we reclaim agency to shape its outcome.

This distinction is also cognizant and respects the diversity of human experience. Not everyone is questioning the grand narrative of existence. Some are content to just live and with finding meaning in this life. They find meaning in art, in activism, in spending time with their grandchildren. The meaning in life is not singular and is personal.

Moreover, the two inquiries can coexist. One may believe in a divine purpose and still struggle to find meaning in daily life. Conversely, one may reject metaphysical meaning and still live with a sense of profound purpose, fulfillment, and satisfcation. The meaning of life may be unknowable; the meaning in life is always reachable and something within our capabilities to create.

Cultivating Meaning in Life

Although the meaning of life is a question we may never answer, the meaning in life is something we can cultivate. Its cultivation requires recognizing what we value, a good recipe for which is to take a critical look at the totality of activities we have and evaluate which ones are engaging, or create a sense of flow, or make us get out of bed in morning. Once we know what we value, then the task is to build ourselves a portfolio of engagements that actualize what we value. Doing this exercise may help us cultivate meaning in life.

Epilogue

Ultimately, the two inquiries into meaning are not adversaries but companions. The search for life’s meaning can evoke awe, humility, and wonder — offering guidance on what truly matters and what does not. If this finite life is all there is, then what is the point of holding grudges? In building walls and refusing to open up. In not reaching out, even if it makes us vulnerable. In the light that this finite life is all we have, meaning in life is not just a distant abstraction — it becomes a quiet invitation to live more openly, more courageously.

Within those guardrails of the meaning of life, the cultivation of meaning in life can be built to offer joy, resilience, and peace.

We may never know why we are here. But we can choose how to be here. And in that choice, repeated daily, we may find a kind of meaning that does not require cosmic validation. Inherently, life may be meaningless, but it does not have to be empty.

Ciao, and thanks for reading.

A Diabetic’s Remorse

The chocolate dissolved slowly on my tongue,
the caramel-glazed cheesecake
caressed my lips.

They felt heavenly,
almost orgasmic.

I will pay the price—
for those moments of surrender.

 

Flashes in the Internet Sky: A Retrospective at 200 Posts

Marking 200 posts, I reflect on writing, mortality, retirement, and the quiet joy of inquiry in a world overflowing with words.

We write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospect — Anaïs Nin

Arun Kumar

Summary: A contemplative reflection marking 200 posts, this essay explores writing as a practice of presence, adaptation, and inquiry. From evolution and mortality to retirement and pickleball, it traces a journey of thought shaped by time affluence, existential curiosity to keep asking deeper questions.

My first post on Medium was published on August 1, 2021, titled “I have something to say, would you be interested?” It emerged from a quiet contemplation: in an age of the internet and practically infinite content, how does one’s voice find its place? The web’s explosive growth has created a vast, ever-expanding universe of words — so wide that being found within it feels like a cosmically improbable event.

In that post, I questioned whether originality was still a prerequisite for resonance. Must every idea be new to matter? Or can recycled concepts, reframed, still strike a chord? I suggested that a blog post, like a supernova, does not need to be groundbreaking to illuminate. Its value lies in the moment it “flashes” into someone’s field of view — when its words, however familiar, feel freshly lit against the backdrop of their attention.

I concluded with a line that became my manifesto: “If the words [you write and post] flash through the right part of the internet sky that I look at, I am interested in what you have to say.” That sentence gave me permission not to be exceptional, but simply to write and offer my thoughts. And that was enough to begin. Since then, the journey has continued.

And today, on September 3rd, I mark my 200th post.

I am quite proud of having stayed the course — committed to posting at least once a week, with each article scheduled for Saturday at 10 a.m. Writing has become a steady companion, a definitive part of my portfolio of activities. It is self-sustaining, requiring no coordination with others, and as long as my cognitive faculties remain intact, it is something I can continue indefinitely (though, of course, there is the ultimate limit set by mortality).

Writing also serves as a kind of existential pivot. If physical pursuits like pickleball were ever to fall away due to injury or age, writing would remain — a durable backup, and perhaps even a primary engagement. It has given purpose and meaning to reading and deepened my commitment to continued learning.

Over the past year, the emergence of AI tools like ChatGPT and Copilot has made the learning process more fluid and accessible. They have become collaborators of sorts — sparring partners, sounding boards, and accelerants to thought.

Across these two hundred posts, a distinct cluster of themes has emerged, each orbiting the central questions of change, meaning, and the human condition. Evolution and the inevitability of biological emergence — natural selection, adaptation, and the architecture of the senses — have been recurring subjects, explored through the lenses of biology, psychology, and perception. Journaling has served as both method and mirror, capturing reflections on mortality, existential inquiry, and the transition into retirement. Philosophy threads through it all. sometimes solemn, sometimes playful. probing the contours of selfhood, time, and truth. Politics appears occasionally, reflecting what is currently going on. And humor, ever present, provides levity — a reminder that even amid meditative musings, the absurdity of life deserves its own space. Together, these themes trace a journey of change, aging, and the quiet passage of time.

At this stage of life, certain aspects of writing have become easier. I no longer feel tethered to metrics — likes, shares, or the need for fleeting validation. That said, I will admit: every now and then, a cue triggers a rush of dopamine, nudging me to check the stats. But that is okay. It is a gentle reminder that I am still human, still responsive to connection.

Being closer to mortality has also deepened my contemplative musing. Questions of existence, meaning, and impermanence arise more frequently now, offering fertile ground for exploration and meditative flight. Writing has become not just practice, but a way of channeling these reflections into a quiet dialogue with my finitude.

On the personal front, a significant transition unfolded between my 100th and 200th post: I retired. The preparation and intentional thinking that went into building a portfolio of engagements to ease that shift paid off. Retirement, often feared for its potential to become void, has instead offered a time affluence, a spaciousness I have put to effective use. It has not become the monster it could have been.

We also moved from Maryland to the South, into a 55+ community, and we were pleased with the choice. The environment suits us, and the rhythms of daily life feel more attuned. Pickleball has become a joyful pursuit, and I have grown quite good at it. In parallel, I have also begun posting some articles on LinkedIn, extending my reflections into new spaces and audiences.

In the years ahead, as I march toward my 300th post, the journey into meditative inquiry will persist. I will continue to find myself drawn to pondering our existence against the vastness of a universe perhaps absent of intrinsic meaning — tracing the cosmic journey woven from glowing stars and swirling galaxies, down through the improbable rise of self-replicating molecules and onward to the unfolding of life’s evolutionary path that brought forth you and me. My thoughts will meander through social norms, wondering how progress alters the very landscape in which natural selection operates — particularly when we seem to have broken through its guardrails. But perhaps it is a process that never truly ends, only the players in the arena of war of evolution change.

As I look to the future, I will continue to contemplate the trajectories humanity might follow if current patterns endure — all while quietly observing and building stories about everyday moments and reflecting on lessons gathered from the pickleball court.

As one grows older and mortality draws nearer, certain questions acquire a sharper urgency. Chief among them is the quiet reckoning with the fact that one day, there will be no “me” left to know that there ever was a “me.” The legacy I might leave behind, subject to exponential decay, is no consolation to the self who will not be around to witness it.

But before I drift too far into the maudlin, let me pause here. I look forward to being here again — with my 300th post.

Ciao, and thanks for reading.

Returning the Loan

Across the street—
on the wrap-around porch—
a rocking chair sways gently—
holding the outline
of someone
who chose to return
the borrowed atoms.