“The obstacle is the path.” – Zen Proverb

Hopeless. Meaningless.
These words carry a heavy weight for many of us, but how often do we truly sit with what they mean?

The truth is, we are all going to die. A few generations from now, your name will likely be forgotten, and the work of your life may no longer exist. Everything about our lives, by definition, is temporary. Knowing this, it’s natural to wonder: Why do anything?

I’ve spent my fair share of time in this space. “Hopeless” and “meaningless” weren’t just fleeting thoughts—they felt like the defining features of my existence. I had no “why,” no spark of passion, and I felt lost. My instinct was to escape, to find anything that might fill the emptiness. But something inside me told me to stay. To sit in the void.

It wasn’t comfortable. Everything in me wanted to avoid this place. But avoidance wasn’t going to help. The only way forward was through.

The void—this place of hopelessness and meaninglessness—can easily pull you into despair. I know, because I’ve been there. What I couldn’t see at the time was that this state wasn’t the enemy; it was a teacher. The lesson it held for me could only be learned by staying in it, sitting with it, and listening.

So I did. Slowly, I made peace with the void. I stopped fighting it. I let it be, and in that stillness, something unexpected happened. Beneath the noise of my thoughts and the weight of my despair, a quiet awareness emerged. This simple shift—acceptance instead of resistance—was what helped me begin to move forward.

One fall evening, I went for a walk, trying to clear my mind. The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of wood smoke. A gentle breeze nudged me forward, and for the first time in a long while, I noticed the world around me. I thought: I’d just like to enjoy this moment. I’d like to enjoy my life.

That simple thought was a turning point.

Suddenly, I found myself reveling in the moment—the coolness of the air, the rhythmic sway of the trees. When I returned home, I sat on the steps, watching the wind move through the branches. In that quiet stillness, there was no hopelessness or meaninglessness. There just was.

This was the breakthrough I needed. The next morning, I woke up with a desire to write. I began to notice patterns in my life, recurring themes I’d been blind to before. One stood out: I had spent so much time rejecting my reality.

• I don’t want to feel this way.
• I don’t want to attend this meeting.
• I don’t want to trudge through my life.

Every one of these thoughts was an act of subtraction, a refusal to accept the present moment. It was the opposite of gratitude. By rejecting what was in front of me, I was rejecting life itself.

That’s when it hit me: “Hopeless” and “meaningless” are not inherently bad. They are simply states of subtraction, pointing to what isn’t there. They aren’t judgments or failures—they’re empty spaces.

For most of my life, I’d been searching for meaning, as if it were something external I could find or achieve. But now I realize: meaning doesn’t exist out there. It’s something we create.

In fact, I’ve come to believe that life itself is hopeless and meaningless.

And that’s not a bad thing.

Hope and meaning are human constructs. They are not universal truths but creative acts. Does a tree hope for a better tomorrow? Does a cat search for meaning in its existence? No. These constructs are uniquely human, and therein lies their power.

A painter begins with a blank canvas, not one already filled. In the same way, the lack of inherent meaning in life is an opportunity—a blank canvas for us to create something extraordinary.

Creating meaning and hope is the ultimate form of empowerment.

This realization transformed how I see my life. Instead of searching for meaning outside of myself, I now recognize that the power lies within me to create it. Viktor Frankl, in his book Man’s Search for Meaning, wrote about finding purpose even in the horrors of a concentration camp. How is that possible? Because meaning is not something we discover—it’s something we decide.

When you feel hopeless or meaningless, remember: this isn’t the end. It’s an offering. The void is handing you a blank canvas, inviting you to step into your power and create.

So, I’ll leave you with this question:

What meaning and hope will you create with your life?