There are moments when life feels electric. A song swells, a sunset flares, a child laughs — and suddenly you feel it: the tingle of meaning. It’s not just pleasure. It’s not even quite happiness. It’s the sense that life, in this moment, is precious.
Life Experiences
We’ve all had days when life technically continued but felt empty, thin, almost pointless. Food was on the table, but appetite was gone. Time passed, but meaning was missing. In those seasons, we need more than existence. We need a reason to stay. For human beings, that reason often comes through aesthetic experience — the moments when life feels not only bearable but luminous, charged with significance.
What if life ended at twelve, or seventeen, as it did for Sam Berns, who lived bravely with progeria and died a teenager? In that case, the moments of youth — the crushes, the games, the discoveries — are not rehearsal. They are the whole play. Childhood is not a practice round. It is life itself, rich with meaning in its own right, as real as anything we experience later.
Potential feels intoxicating. It whispers: You could be great. You could write the book, launch the business, find the love, paint the canvas. Potential flatters us, because it suggests greatness without risk. But potential is not enough. A life can be heavy with possibility yet empty in reality. The tragedy is not wasted effort but wasted potential that never turned into anything lived.
Imagine life as a cup placed in our hands. Some cups are long-stemmed, others simple clay. Some are ornate, others plain. We don’t choose the vessel. But we do choose how we fill it. A cup left empty at the end of life is a tragedy. The question is: will we fill it with a rich profusion of experiences, values, and loves, or will we let it stand half-empty, untasted?
For as long as I can remember, that’s how I’ve felt about life. Not always in the form of bliss or ease, but as a steady undercurrent of awe. Awe at the sunrise over a mountain ridge, at the fact that I get to love and be loved, at the sheer strangeness of being conscious for a while in a universe of mostly unconscious matter. Life, I’ve come to believe, is not just to be lived. It is to be savored.
Why bother living? It’s a heavy question—but an honest one. We all ask it, whether in quiet moments or darker ones. What makes this life worth all the effort, the heartbreak, the slog? What’s the payoff that justifies the pain? Because let’s face it: life isn’t Disneyland. It’s messy. It’s hard. It’s work. So why do we stay?
Is depression all bad? Well, yes, in a sense it is. Because when you’re depressed, nothing feels good. But in the background, there are some things going on that can actually be helpful to you. Especially if you fully and honestly let yourself be depressed.
These are moments that pierce the ordinary. They remind us of what’s possible in life—not someday, but right here and now. They’re not about material achievement, nor about numbing pleasure. They’re about something more primal and profound: the sheer aesthetic experience of being alive.
In a world full of prestige TV, one small, tender series broke my film-geek defenses—and made me cry every single time. After Life (currently on Netflix) is the most personally moving TV series I’ve ever seen. And that’s saying something....