“The meaning of life is to be alive. It’s so simple, so obvious and so simple. And yet, everyone runs around in great panic, as if they need to achieve something beyond themselves.” ~Alan Watts
As I enter the later stages of life, I find myself asking more questions about meaning, not about achievement. The need to prove yourself has become softened, so what is important now?
In a world where novelty, speed and success are celebrated, I wonder what happens when we no longer chase those things. What happens when our energy moves from effort to listening? Without the spotlight, is life still meaningful? Can we stop trying to be exceptional?
These questions have been rooted in me. Rather than passing thoughts, deep enquiries that color my mornings, my quiet moments, and even my dreams. I don’t think they’re just my questions. As we get older and start seeing life through different lenses, I think it reflects what many of us face. It’s not a lens of ambition, it’s paying attention.
One morning I wake up something that I don’t know what I’m trying to do. There are no urgent projects at this time. No one needs my leadership. The schedule doesn’t move me. So I’m sitting. Breathe. I try to listen. Listen to something quiet, not the noise of the world. My own breath, my heartbeat, faint ham of being beneath it all.
I have lived a life full of meaningful work. I am a filmmaker, teacher, musician, writer and non-profit director. I have worked across cultures and disciplines, often from beaten paths. It was by no means appealing, but sincere. Still, nonetheless, the voice used to whisper: not enough.
I wasn’t the last choice, but I was rarely the first. I was not overlooked, but I was not outstanding. I didn’t collect any awards or titles. I went a different path. Somewhere along the way, I absorbed the belief that being “sufficient” means being exceptional.
Even when I insisted that I didn’t care about perception, some of me still wanted it. And when it didn’t come, I quietly began to doubt the value of the path I had chosen.
Looking back, we can see how quickly the need has become established. As a child, I often felt the surroundings, but not excluded, but not required. I was asking ideas, dreams, questions, but I can’t remember the person who asked what they were. The lack of true listening from teachers, adults and systems influences subtle wounds. It taught me to measure value by response. If no one had asked, that might not have been an issue. Maybe I wasn’t an issue.
Such a message digs deep into holes. I won’t scream. I whisper. It tells you to prove yourself. Make an effort. To reach verification rather than grounding with your own presence. And like many, I have been following a sense of meaning for decades, hoping it would be confirmed by the world around me.
When that confirmation did not come, I made my quiet path wrong due to a mistake. But now I see it more clearly: I never failed – I was alive. I didn’t have a cultural mirror to see myself clearly.
This is not personal, it is cultural.
In American life, we talk about honoring elders, but we rarely do. We celebrate youth, confusion, innovation, but forget continuity, reflection, and memory. Aging is framed as decline rather than depth. Invisibility becomes a quiet destiny.
The workplace will retire you. Culture adjusts you. Even family structures often change unintentionally, prioritizing new ones.
It’s not just the individual who feels this. That is that society itself has lost its anchor.
In other cultures, aging is seen differently. Stoak called wisdom the highest virtue. Indigenous communities treat elders not as artefacts, but as guardians of knowledge. The Viking commissioned the decision to the grey hair assembly. The mother of the Haudenosaunee clan and the mother of the Queen of West Africans were not young, but rather respected leadership roles rooted in time-buying insights.
These cultures understand that we have forgotten. That perspective takes time. That wisdom is not a product of speed, but a product of tranquility. That life is less valuable when it has lived deep.
So the question changes for me. Isn’t that just the point of my life right now? Does that become a kind of culture like me that no longer sees the point of life? If we measure human value only through productivity, we are destroying not only the people, but the wisdom they carry.
Still, I’m not just criticizing culture. I want to live a different life. If I lose the memory of the way the world honors the elders, perhaps the first step is to remember myself and live in that role without anyone giving it a name for me.
In recent years I have discovered that it is based on Buddhist teachings, not as a belief, but as a way of walking. The four noble truths speak directly to my experiences.
There is suffering. And one of its roots is Tanha. I crave things like that.
That craving once took the form of ambition, perfectionism and approval. But now I look more clearly. Not because it had no meaning, but because I suffered, but because I believed that the meaning had to be seen in a certain way.
The third noble truth offers something radical: the possibility of liberation. Not through achievement, but by letting go. And eight times the path – the right vision, the right intentions, the right actions, the right living etc. do not prescribe goals – it provides a rhythm. How to go back to the present.
It doesn’t mean letting go. That means softening the grip. Rather than keeping track of it, you sit with the real thing. He hasn’t proven anything, but he lives with care.
Carl Jung advised patients to keep a sweaty diary. I’ll try to do both.
Writing is a way to understand what I feel. That slows me down. It draws me into being. I’m not told that I’m known. I write to know myself. Even if the words remain invisible, the process itself feels sacred. Because it’s honest.
Stop waiting for someone to give me a platform or role. I began to live as if what I had to offer was important without anyone celebrating it.
And on the best day, it feels like freedom.
There is still morning when doubts come back: Did I do enough? Did I miss my moment? But I’m back to this:
That’s important because it’s true. Not because it’s surprising. It’s not because it changed the world. But because I lived it wholeheartedly. I stayed close to what is important to me. I didn’t look away.
That’s what trust feels to me now. It’s not certainty or success, it’s a quiet drive to continue walking, showing up and listening. Living this final chapter as a deepening rather than a decline.
Perhaps the point is not exceptional. Maybe it’s to be present, to be authentic, to be kind. Maybe it’s about conveying something quieter than legacy, but it lasts longer than ego: attention, care, perspective.
Maybe that’s what the elders were always meant to do.
About Tony Collins
Tony Collins is a documentary filmmaker, educator and writer whose work explores creativity, caregiving and personal growth. He is the author of: Windows to the Sea. This is a moving collection of essays on love, loss and existence. Creative Scholarship – Guide for Educators and Artists is rethinking how creative work is valued. Tony writes to reflect on the important things and help others feel less lonely.
