I told my husband last night that I have been thinking about the thing that scares me the most since I was a little kid. If we don’t really exist in time and space, then do we even exist at all? Is anything real? Does it even matter? It scares me so much to think about it. When I was little, I wouldn’t think about it too long because I couldn’t stand the idea. Now that I am older, I can take the fear a little more, but it still is scary to contemplate the idea that none of this exists. It could all be an illusion or a dream.
When I spoke to my husband about it, I told him that sometimes I felt alone thinking I was the only person in the world who ever had thoughts like that. He said I wasn’t alone. He told me to think about the famous philosophers who said “I think therefore I am.” That guy had the same idea. My husband said the people who came up with the idea for the Matrix movies had the same idea, too.
Then he told me something I wasn’t expecting. He said that for him, if he experienced it, whether it wasn’t real or not, it really didn’t matter because the experience was real to him and that’s all that mattered to him. In a strange coincidence, I had been writing about storytelling and written almost the exact same thing. Our experiences of life make whatever our life is meaningful. I don’t know exactly what life is meant to be. I don’t know where we are in time or space or if we even exist in time or space, but I do know that God gave me this amazing gift of life. For however long, He gives me the ability to experience this wonderful gift, I should be grateful for the experience. Every day, my heart wells up with thankfulness for every stupid little moment of my tiny life. I thank God for it.
My faith saved me. May God’s peace reside in all of our hearts.
