What does it mean to fill fulfilled and satisfied with life?
That's a question I've been asking since my first life crisis.
Everyone has life crises: it might be losing a loved one, a career failure, an event of public humiliation, a goal unmet, etc. But for me, a life crisis is when living feels extra, when my existence (or the lack of it) wouldn't make a difference, at that moment, at all.
It first happened during my visit to an abandoned section of the Great Wall of China. As one of the historical relics of our time, the Great Wall too massive in size for humans to regularly maintain its quality. Thus, the Chinese government picked a few portions, mostly depending on quality and historical significance, to protect and provide maintenance for. After I visited those portions, I was interested in climbing some abandoned and wild portions of the wall. I consulted a few locals and guides, traveled for a few hours by car, another few hours by bike, and finally arrived at the base of an unweeded mountain. By myself and a stick that I found, I trudged up the uneven mountain, occasionally falling into hidden pits (not very deep, fortunately) and almost sliding off the side into a tavern. But after a few hours of hard work, I arrived at the mountaintop where a ruined portion of the Great Wall stood, or rather, collapsed into a heap of bricks resembling a wall. I scaled the side of that heap and as I got to the top, I saw something.
Endless, endless, endless rows of mountains. A pale blue sky loomed above. The farthest edges of the sky were curved, encapsulating the world. I reached above and touched a cloud as it slipped through my hand. There were no civilization in sight--just me and a lonely nature. And I felt truly alone.
The winds were peaceful; there was no sun visible but the sky was lit blue; the land was picturesque, without me. I looked down. It was a long fall, one that I couldn't see the end to. In fact, I would have to fall through a few low floating clouds before I could see the ground. It seemed like a perfect ending to one's story of life.
Vertigo stopped me. I walked back down the mountain and biked back. Along the way, I only had one overwhelming thought: what am I doing here?
Luckily, after a day's sleep, that feeling passed, and I was back to normal. Mysteriously.
This feeling came back the strongest during a fair one recent day. It started off normal, playing some fair games, meeting a few people, but at the end, as the fair ended, everyone packed up, and left me, with empty tents, cold wind by my side, and severe dehydration. I found a soccer ball, tried to kick it into a near by net, but missed badly, causing the ball to fly hundreds of meters away. I was too tired to pick it up. And as the sky turned orange, the thought came back: what am I doing here?
I went home that day, ate some delicious cuisine, played a few games, read a few pages out my favorite book, took a bath, and went to sleep. But the next day, that thought persisted. And it persisted for the following few days, until... my epiphany.
The word is "Purpose". I felt empty because I lacked purpose. I lacked a goal to accomplish. And this answers a fundamental question, why am I still alive. Because I still have stuff to do, places to go, impacts to make.
That day, I set a goal for myself, to teach a stranger a magic trick. True, it's small and easily accomplished, by when I would have to set another goal. But before then, I have the purpose to live on. Before then, death's grasp is rendered null.
To feel "full" is to feel alive and to feel alive is to be pursuing a goal that one sets for oneself. So ask yourself, why do you live on for another day?