Do you really?

I'm not saying the answer is no. Maybe you do. Maybe every single one of those photos matters to you. But have you ever actually checked? Or did it all just kind of happen?

That's what I found when I looked at my own life. Most of it was never chosen. It just piled up. And I kept going, because stopping never really came to mind.

Last year, I went through something I can only describe as an existential. A quiet one. A creeping realization that settled in over weeks and months. I found myself zooming out. Way out. Looking at the world and realizing how incredibly small we are. How small I am. And from that distance, one question kept echoing: why do we do what we do, and why does it matter?

The thing with hard questions is that they don't stay contained. Once I started asking it about my own life, I couldn't stop seeing it everywhere. In the people around me. In the routines none of us ever consciously chose. In the habits we carry because we've never paused long enough to ask whether they still should.

It's the same thing I discovered when I stopped using my phone for four months. I wore just an Apple Watch. No apps, no scrolling, no constant pull. Most of what I thought I needed turned out to be habit. Something I'd never questioned because everyone around me was doing the same thing.

We believe we're locked into our defaults. Our phones, our routines, our ways of spending time. We just never tested the assumption.

I want to be honest with you. I still don't have a neat answer to the big question. I'm still in it. Still searching. And I've made peace with the fact that maybe the answer isn't something you find once and hold forever. Maybe it's something you keep choosing.

Sitting with that discomfort long enough did something. It led me to two things I can hold onto.

The first one is this: I want to leave the world in a better place than I found it.

It's quieter than it sounds. It's the way you show up for the people around you. The work you put into the world. The small things you do that nobody sees, that make things just a little bit better than before.

I believe that's part of why we do what we do. Or at least, why it matters when we do.

The second thing is harder to put into words. Someone else did it better than I could.

Last year, I was watching a conversation between Steven Bartlett and Dr. Anna Lembke, a dopamine researcher. She said something that stopped me:

"I think that part of the problem is that we've organized our lives around rewards. Almost everything we do is predicated on the feel-good moment we'll have at the end of it. And because of that, we are missing out on the process. We're projecting our psyche forward into the future toward the reward and not able to really be here in the moment."

She described driving to the interview that day, feeling nervous, already looking forward to it being over. And then catching herself in that thought.

She put words to something I had never been able to name. That weird blend of wanting whatever we're doing to be finished, so we can go hide somewhere and feel safe again. I knew that feeling. I knew it well. And hearing someone be that honest made me feel less alone in it.

I recognized myself in it. Eating while thinking about what comes after eating. Having a conversation while half-composing the next thing I need to do. Never quite here. Always somewhere slightly ahead of myself.

Then she asked: what if I knew I was going to die right after this conversation? Suddenly this moment, just this one, is all there is.

Being here now doesn't mean being comfortable. It means being okay with not controlling your comfort level. Being open to whatever comes. The discomfort included.

That's what I'm working toward. Not some polished version of a life well-lived. Just the willingness to actually be in mine.

So I started applying a simple filter. If the answer to "do I really?" isn't a hell yes, it's probably a no.

The pants you haven't worn in two years. Your screen time. The platforms you're still on out of habit. That Disney+ subscription. That fifth cup of coffee.

This isn't about minimalism, and I'm not here to tell you to own less or do less. It's about honesty. Radical honesty about what actually earns its place in your life, and what's just been sitting there because you never thought to ask.

Take coffee. Do I really need coffee every morning? Unless it's before 6am, I don't need it at all. And I love it anyway. I like it sweet, with at least two spoons of sugar. The taste is fine. What I really love is the romantic idea of having coffee. Spending a moment in the kitchen, sipping from my cup, looking outside. That quiet little ritual before the day starts pulling at me.

The coffee survived the question. It makes my life a little more enjoyful. So it stays.

Some things survive the question. Some things don't. The ones that survive become more meaningful because you chose them on purpose. The ones that don't were just taking up space.

So maybe it is about the photos. A little bit. And the group chats. And the Reels. They're all worth being honest about. Everything is.

Are you living the life you actually chose? Or just the one that piled up while you weren't paying attention?

I’d say; you don't need a existential to start asking.