When I was a kid, I used to lay in bed at night and think myself to sleep. I enjoyed it. Letting my thoughts drift here and there, working out problems and anxieties I was facing until a solution that made me feel good arose from the turbulence. I would continue this process in various veins of pursuit, until that moment came, which I could never remember no matter how hard I tried, where my thoughts became nonsensical and morphed into a dream state slumber.

During this nightly ritual, I became philosophical at times, wondering about God and existence. One of my favorite questions to ask myself was, “Why does anything exist at all?” I would dive into this question, first letting it simmer on the surface, then sinking to the next layer, and then deeper and deeper I would go, further and further until the vast mystery of what I was asking would weigh me down and surround me like a black hole sending a shiver down my spine. It frightened me, but at the same time I reveled in it. In finding that place that was so mysterious and so vast, that my process of the mind could no longer handle it.

Why does anything exist at all? Why isn’t there just nothing? But not even nothing, because nothing is actually something. Just emptiness, but not even that, because emptiness represents a lack of something. No, just… Why does anything exist at all?

When I ask myself these questions as an adult, I often find the same familiar place, where the darkness overwhelms me and a chill runs through my veins, but as the strange and mysterious darkness disappears, I am left with an enlightened thought. The fact that anything exists at all is truly a miracle. To look around and observe existence, to breathe in and out and realize that I exist, is astounding. I will never truly know with my mind what it all means, where it all comes from and why, but I can look at it, experience it, and be utterly amazed at it all.