When I wake up, I’m greeted with the harsh glare of spotlights, a microphone in my hand, and a sea of people before me.

I still. This was not what I expected to wake up to. Surveying the crowd, I realize that they’re all staring at me in anticipation, as though waiting for me to say or do something. In my sleep-addled state, I stand there silent for entirely too long, and as the whispers begin to flit throughout the crowd, someone pulls me backstage.

“What’s wrong?” he hisses at me. “There’s a whole stadium of people waiting for you to say one thing, and you’re just standing there.”

“What do they want me to say?” I ask, confused.

He stares at me with a mixture of anger and bewilderment.

“They want you to tell them the meaning of life! That’s what this whole tour was about!”

“But I don’t know the meaning of life,” I say, somewhat desperately. None of this makes any sense.

“I _know_ you don’t.” He rolls his eyes. “But all those people out there think you do, and they don’t much care what you say it is. They just want an answer. So you’re going to go out there and give it to them.”

He says this last bit with a clenched jaw and pushes me in the chest as he says it, probably for emphasis. I flinch away.

As someone from onstage finishes talking and applause ripples through the audience, I’m pushed back onto the stage, clutching my microphone for dear life.

As I stare out over the people’s heads, I’m more confused than ever. I’m supposed to be telling all these people what the meaning of life is, I have no idea where I am, I just woke up, and my hair is longer. Probably the most concerning one is that I have no idea where I am, although the problem of giving a speech on something I know nothing about is a very pressing problem.

The man from backstage glowers at me from the wings. I either have to talk now or face his wrath. And his wrath seems like something I _do not_ want to deal with; he’s the type who is used to getting exactly what he wants when he wants it. So I talk.

“You all came here because you have questions. And today, one question in particular; the meaning of life. What is it?”

I pause, beginning to panic properly.

“Well. To be completely honest with you all, I don’t know. Now, before you start demanding your money back, let me explain.”

I have no idea where I’m going with this, and angry whispers have started in the audience. Backstage guy is really, really mad.

“I can’t tell you what the meaning of life is for you because I just don’t know. I can tell you what the meaning of life is for me, but that still doesn’t do you much good. For instance, I can tell you that I find life’s meaning in the flowers blooming by the freeway, in the fat toads on the sidewalk, in bumblebees and penguins, in the way the sun shines on the water and the sound my friend’s laugh makes. It’s in the breeze on a hot afternoon, in helping an old person carry their groceries, in giving up your seat on the subway, in strawberry muffins and peppermint tea, in the beauty of churches and cathedrals.

“I can find the meaning of life in so many small things. Maybe some of them resound with you, many not. This is the problem, this is why I can’t tell you the meaning of life. It’s because it’s different, so different between me and you. Maybe you find the meaning of life in your dog, or in your mother, or in playing your favorite video game, or wherever. It doesn’t really matter.

“What does matter is that there _is_ a meaning to life! There is a meaning, and it’s up to you to find it for yourself. It doesn’t matter if you find it in solving world hunger or lighting a candle during dinner, it’s just as perfect and meaningful either way. There’s an answer, a point, out there! You just have to find it, find yourself. And then—here’s the most important part—you have to _appreciate_ it. You have to be intentional, and you have to say ‘I see this thing and I love it.’ Every time you see something good, you have to truly appreciate it. Be fully present. Be able to say ‘I see this thing.’ And then know yourself well enough to say ‘and I love it.’”

“So, my friends, life is meaningless. It is entirely up to you to create your own meaning everywhere possible. So I’m going to ask you to, when you leave here today, be a little more intentional. Embrace your inner child; trust me, she’s in there. Go ahead and walk barefoot in the grass. Take a moment to feel each blade on your feet. Pick a dandelion and press it when you get home. Smell the air and feel it rushing past you. Find a little bit of happiness, of meaning, and grasp hold of it. Go ahead and write it down, make a whole journal of things that are your meaning of life, and when you’re feeling a little messed up, go and look through it to find the meaning again.

“Make your own meaning, and stay safe out there. Thank you for coming.”

I step offstage to roaring applause. I’m slightly shell-shocked, and as backstage guy comes rushing towards me, I blink, and suddenly I’m standing in my own living room again.

I blink around at everything for a moment, before making a decision and turning sharply. Marching off to my bedroom, I vow to sleep soundly until this all fades to a confusing dream memory.