Existential Dread

I remember the first time I felt that my life held no meaning. I was maybe eleven years old: I remember standing in the living room, listening to this guy sing on TV, and wondering about heaven. My thoughts went something like this: I will live, and work, and then I will die. And then I’m just supposed to go to heaven after? And what’s the meaning of heaven? What’s so good about staying someplace for a million years? Do I really want that?

Even the eternal life I had been taught to so ardently anticipate seemed pointless.

That was the first time I was overtaken by the vague but looming fear that my life meant nothing—the first time I remember feeling the weight of meaninglessness. And it has surfaced every so often since then—it creeps up slowly, surprises me while I do my homework or watch a movie. Often, it appears when I feel the most lonely.

In these moments, I certainly want to continue living—I simply struggle to think of meaningful ways to do so. In a world of eight billion people, my life makes up but 0.00000000000125 % of the lives currently on earth. I fear that my existence holds no significance, that I will never have a chance to make a lasting impact on society. I fear being forgotten. I fear that, even if I were able to make a difference, I would die with no hope for a future life. I subscribe to Christian viewpoints and beliefs, wherein my meaning could be found in living a life of love. But sometimes, even that is difficult to hold onto.

We as humans fear the unknown, which is why the threat of meaninglessness is so scary—it is mysterious, uncertain, and shaky. It’s interesting that the current generation of young people, which would include myself, seem to be engulfed by this specific brand of existential dread. We feel its undertones in films like “Don’t Look Up,” and in the beats of Gen Z icon Billie Eilish. We see it in the abundance of irony-filled, dark-humored social media critiques of today’s society. We sense it in ourselves, when we think about our future after graduating.

Taking into account the current state of the world—natural disasters (summer floods, California wildfires, Hurricanes Ian and Fiona), political turmoil (the Russia/Ukraine conflict, the Iraqi political crisis, the unforgettable protests of summer 2020), school shootings (35 in 2022 alone: a record high), and of course a pandemic that has stretched two years—it is no surprise that we are contemplating our mortality and our worldviews so incessantly. Never before have there been so many problems heaping onto one another like this.

Our situation is further amplified by the instancy of social media: the most recent world issue is no longer an isolated phenomenon; it reaches everyone immediately. And we as young people create discourse about it in our own particular way: just check out the @hellicity_merriman account on Instagram, a prime example of Gen Z satire that combines 2000s nostalgia with ironically-charged critiques of the various happenings of today’s world, from Roe vs. Wade being overturned, to the Queen’s funeral, to the general failings of capitalism.

We will always be forging into shakier land, into increasingly uncertain tomorrows. So the question then, is, Are there any ways to remedy this existential dread, or somehow combat it and manage to cling to some sort of meaning?

I have thought about this for a long time. Though I personally find myself returning to the significance of God or my loved ones, I have no universal answers. Interestingly, Healthline provides some tips for dealing with this often-overwhelming feeling. Some takeaways include journaling, meditating, and talking with a therapist. All of these things help you think more deeply and push you to evaluate your emotions. Sometimes it’s helpful to identify exactly what triggered this existential crisis—did you recently have a traumatic experience or lose a loved one recently, or did you simply overhear a conversation that triggered you? Identifying the root of our emotions can be very beneficial in analyzing our thoughts.

Sometimes, it’s also okay to simply acknowledge that we just don’t know. Perhaps we must learn to embrace this uncertainty somehow, for that is the only thing that will remain certain in these times. The future is unknown and sometimes terrifying, and there will always be moments when you feel that life is too bleak to possess any meaning. But the thing is, you’re not alone in this. There is something to be said about going it together. We must cling to the things we love the most. Sometimes, we might not even know what we love the most. And that may seem scary. But that’s okay. We must make room for the unknown. We must make space for ourselves to question, to think. Dark moments come naturally with uncertainty. But in spending time reflecting, and in conversing with others who may be thinking through similar ideas, we might find a sort of unity. And perhaps we can seek solace in that unity, and find comfort in connection amidst a chaotic existence.