The Forgotten Minimums: Why We’re All Wrestling with an Existential Crisis

Existential crisis. A term we toss around lightly, but behind it lies a quiet, universal ache. And it’s not just a Gen Z problem, or a midlife issue, or a retirement reflection. Across generations, people are feeling the same weight — a sense that life, despite all its conveniences and comforts, feels strangely hollow.

Why? Because somewhere along the way, we’ve abandoned the minimums of life — the ground that once kept us steady.

When Life Was Slower — and Better

There was a time when listening to music meant surrendering to an album from start to finish. Every track mattered, every lyric had space to breathe. Compare that to today’s playlist-hopping, where we can’t last thirty seconds before hitting “skip.” Music hasn’t lost its magic — we lost our patience.

Books were once dog-eared paperbacks with worn spines, their scent carrying memories of afternoons spent in quiet corners. Now, we skim headlines, tweets, and summaries, calling it “reading.” Depth has been replaced with fragments.

Walking used to mean stepping out with a pair of slippers, feeling the ground, watching the world move at its own pace. Today, we chase steps on fitness trackers, earbuds plugged in, multitasking even with our feet.

Meals? They weren’t protein ratios, macros, or calorie counts. They were home-cooked, slow, shared with people we loved. We didn’t ask whether rice was “good carbs” or whether ghee was “bad fat.” We simply ate, and in doing so, we nourished more than just our bodies.

The Illusion of Progress

We tell ourselves that we’ve “evolved.” That faster is better. That convenience is success. That validation comes from declaring ourselves kings of our own little empires. But kings of what? Scrolls, selfies, and endless notifications?

We once looked up to something higher — parents, teachers, mentors, faith, silence, even the rhythm of nature itself. Today, everyone is their own authority, their own guru, their own god. And yet, despite all the self-crowning, the gnawing emptiness remains. Because authority without grounding is arrogance. And progress without roots is just drift.

Why the Ground Feels Shaky

An existential crisis isn’t some mysterious curse. It’s life gently reminding us: You’ve wandered too far from the basics.

We’ve mistaken noise for living. Convenience for meaning. Calories for nourishment. Self-validation for wisdom.

The ground feels shaky because we’ve built castles in the air, forgetting that strength comes from the soil beneath — the minimums that once kept us whole

The Call Back to Simplicity

The good news? The minimums haven’t gone anywhere. They’re waiting for us

  • To sit through an entire album without touching “next.”
  • To lose ourselves in a paperback without skimming.
  • To walk without a destination, and actually notice the world around us.
  • To eat without guilt, to enjoy food without numbers.
  • To listen to guidance, not just amplify our own voice.


The crisis begins when we forget. The healing begins when we return.

Closing Thought

Existential emptiness isn’t about lacking more; it’s about forgetting less. The minimums of life — music, books, food, connection, humility — were never small. They were the ground.

And maybe the way forward isn’t in chasing what’s next, but in remembering what was always enough.


Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Myth of Relevance: On Masks, Humans, and the Loneliness Behind Self-Love

Image
We’ve built a world where being seen feels more important than being real . Where silence is suspicious. Where presence is judged by performance. Where even solitude needs a caption. We call ourselves social beings. But what if we got it wrong? What if human beings aren’t inherently social— but just deeply afraid of being forgotten ? The Performance of Connection Scroll. Smile. React. Repost. We’ve been conditioned to keep showing up—not as ourselves, but as a version that works . A version that fits. That doesn’t question too much. That plays along. Because relevance has become a currency. If you disappear for a bit, people ask, “Are you okay?” Stay silent for too long? You’re ghosted. Be real and raw? You’re “too intense.” So we choose the safer mask. We stay visible, even when we’re invisible to ourselves. Self-Love or Just Marketed Narcissism? We live in an age where “self-love” is everywhere. But somewhere along the way, it stopped being about healing… and star...
Read more

The Beauty of a Boring Life

Image
The Beauty of a Boring Life Why the quiet path is the strongest rebellion today Not every story needs fireworks. Not every soul is meant to shine in neon.  And not every life has to be a performance.  In a world obsessed with “doing more,” the most radical thing you can do is live quietly, intentionally, and without the need to be seen.   We’ve come to fear the mundane.  We mistake boredom for failure, discipline for oppression, and simplicity for mediocrity. We're addicted to highs—dopamine hits, likes, reels, and the illusion of progress.  But somewhere between the hustle and the hashtags, we’ve lost something real: The art of a slow, grounded, normal life.  The Dharma of Restraint. Take Rama, A prince by blood, a warrior by strength, a divine avatar by destiny. He could’ve ruled with an iron fist. He could’ve defied everyone, taken shortcuts, lived a glorious life. Instead? He chose exile. He chose rules. He chose restraint. No bragging. No shor...
Read more

Layers of Us: What Onions Teach Us About Love and Loss

Image
We often overlook the poetry of everyday things—until they suddenly reveal themselves in moments of stillness. In something as mundane as peeling an onion, I found a strange, piercing metaphor for human relationships. The more I thought about it, the more it made sense: love, like an onion, has layers. And reaching the heart of it can be both beautiful and painful. Consider this. To truly taste an onion—to blend its flavour into the dish—you must first strip away its outer skin. And in doing so, your eyes begin to sting. The deeper you go, the more it burns. And when you finally start slicing it, tears often follow. Yet, once it’s mixed in, cooked down, and settled into the meal, it transforms everything. It becomes the one ingredient that elevates the whole dish—bringing warmth, balance, and even comfort. Ironically, that same onion often leaves a strong aftertaste that lingers longer than you’d like. Isn’t that how it is with people too? When you’re drawn to someone—truly drawn—y...
Read more