Today is my birthday. I am now 42 years old. Which means that my mom and dad have a son that’s 42. I’m sure that’s reassuring to them both. 42 is, according to the various Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, the answer to the infinite question of life, the universe and everything. I figure that means this is a good chance to discuss what I think the meaning of life actually is. So here we go.
Life has no meaning other than that which we assign to it. That’s it. There’s no greater plan, purpose or meaning to the universe. And frankly, that’s just fine. I don’t need religion or anything like that to tell me that there’s some greater purpose. My personal goal with life is to make the world at least slightly better than it was when I came into it, and that’s all I need.