Defect in Human Code?

A reflection on the question: What is this life all about?

Several years ago, I joined an online discussion group dedicated to spirituality and life’s deeper questions. Those conversations quickly became something I genuinely looked forward to. They were refreshing and thought-provoking, often taking me far beyond the kind of thinking I was accustomed to in everyday life.

Participants came from different cultures, backgrounds, and belief systems, each bringing a distinct perspective on reality, purpose, and existence.

By contrast, my daily work in the financial industry revolves around data, structure, and measurable outcomes. In those conversations, however, there were no clear answers, no spreadsheets, and no certainty. Strangely, that was exactly what made them so compelling.

One particular session has stayed with me ever since.

A woman joined the call. I seem to recall that she was British, though I’m not entirely sure. What I do remember clearly is the intensity with which she spoke. She was searching for something—an answer to a question that felt deeply personal and urgent.

She asked:

“What is this all for?”

At first, the group responded in familiar ways. Some spoke about gratitude, being present, and appreciating life as it is.

She listened, then interrupted:

“Yes, I understand all of that. I’m grateful for my children, for my life, for everything I have. I get that. But what is the purpose? What is it really all for? Do you understand what I mean?”

There was a sense of urgency—almost desperation—in her voice. For her, it wasn’t a casual philosophical question; it was something she truly needed to understand.

In that moment, I realized something about myself. I had asked that question before—what is the point of all this?—but never with that level of depth or intensity. If I’m honest, I had never truly wrestled with it. For me, life had always been something to live, not something to analyze too deeply.

Others in the group began sharing different interpretations and philosophies, each person trying to offer a perspective that might help. Some spoke about meaning as something we create. Others suggested that the question itself might not have an answer.

Eventually, one participant—possibly from India, though again I’m not certain—said something that immediately caught my attention:

“What a defect in human code—to question the reason for its own existence.”

That statement hit me harder than I expected.

My immediate reaction was to resist the idea. How could that be a defect? Questions like these have driven philosophy, spirituality, and human curiosity for centuries.

He continued: “Maybe you should think about when you first asked that question—and look at that moment more closely.”

That idea stayed with me.

The discussion continued, with voices overlapping and perspectives colliding. Eventually, like many of these sessions, it came to a natural end. People signed off one by one, returning to their daily lives.

I left the meeting too, but not in the same state of mind.

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Fast-Forward to Today

Lately, I’ve found myself wondering whether I might be going through a typical midlife transition. I’m 35 now, which—by most definitions—would fit the timeline.

What I struggle with is an underlying sense of emptiness—not sadness or depression, just a quiet sense of meaninglessness, for lack of a better word. It comes and goes, usually when I’m not mentally engaged—when there’s no task to focus on, no problem to solve, and nothing to occupy my thoughts.

What makes it more confusing is that, objectively, my life is good.

I’ve managed to build a life I’m genuinely grateful for. I’m in a loving relationship. I have a stable job that pays well. My home is comfortable. There’s nothing in particular I long for or feel deprived of.

Of course, life hasn’t been without its challenges. I’ve experienced serious trauma and genuinely difficult moments—sometimes overwhelming ones. Yet overall, my life has been—and still is—good.

“What is the purpose of this day? What is the purpose of anything I choose to do?”

Some mornings, I sit with my coffee and notice that feeling quietly in the background—a subtle lack of enthusiasm for the day ahead. It’s nothing dramatic or heavy, just an absence of the sense of aliveness that came so naturally to me in my early twenties.

In those moments, a question arises almost automatically: What is the purpose of this day? What is the purpose of anything I choose to do?

And that’s when I think back to the woman from that conversation years ago.

I understand now what she was trying to express. I can feel it too.

It makes me wonder—was that guy right? Is this questioning somehow a “defect”? Or is there something else behind it?

Steps I Took to Better Understand My Search for Meaning

Step 1: Answering the Question

When did I first start questioning the purpose of my life?

The answer surprised me. The question didn’t arise during a crisis or a major turning point. Instead, it emerged during a much quieter shift that unfolded gradually over time.

I realized that the joy in my life had slowly begun to fade under the weight of routine and lingering negative thoughts about the past. There wasn’t a single defining moment, just a subtle imbalance that grew over time.

My days became repetitive, and because I had nothing clearly defined to look forward to, I found myself dwelling on the past more often. It was almost as if my brain had been trained to revisit negative or emotionally charged situations, even attaching unpleasant feelings to neutral memories unrelated to any genuinely negative event.

Step 2: The Importance of Growth and Vision

Luckily, I live in a time when so much knowledge is easily accessible. Books, podcasts, and conversations with people around the world offer endless insight and inspiration.

While browsing online, I came across a quote by Terri S. Foy that stayed with me:

“If you’ve stopped growing, you’ve started dying. You need a vision for your life—remember what brings you joy and do more of it.”

The more I reflected on this, the more I realized how much it applied to my own life.

Somewhere along the way, I had stopped growing in the areas that once brought me genuine enjoyment. Life had become stable and comfortable—but quietly stagnant as well.

So I began asking myself a different kind of question:

What would a truly fulfilling life look like for me—not just in the next year or two, but in the long term?

As I explored this, a vision started to take shape. It included parts of my current life as well as entirely new elements. When I imagined that life, I felt a strong sense of excitement and alignment.

I began to understand that when you find something you’re naturally interested in—or something you’re good at—you grow in that area, and that growth brings joy. Often, the things we’re good at also interest us because they come more naturally.

Robert Greene talks about looking back to childhood to rediscover what once fascinated us.

Interestingly, when I did that, I remembered something from my earliest years—before I started school, before I turned seven.

I used to write poems.

My grandfather would send them to a newsletter that had a section for children’s work, and many of my poems were published. He would carefully cut them out and glue them into a notebook beside my originals.

Years later, I even published three books.

Eventually, I moved away from writing, finished university, and became a data professional.

So I decided to write again, and this blog is part of that decision.

Another aspect became clear as I shaped my long-term vision: my environment.

While I appreciate where I live, I’ve always felt a natural pull toward places like the Canary Islands. Since my first visit, I’ve returned almost every year. There’s something about the atmosphere that resonates with me, and I know I need to consider that pull more seriously.

Piece by piece, I’ve started to rebuild my vision for life from fragments of what I genuinely enjoy. I hope that one day I can live that vision more fully.

Step 3: Replacing Habitual Negative Feelings

In one of her podcasts, Tatjana Vojtehovski explains that we can become accustomed to negative feelings. As we repeat the same patterns each day, those feelings begin to feel normal.

To move out of that emptiness, we need to consciously plant “seeds of joy”—small, positive experiences and actions that grow over time and gradually replace the negative baseline.

And that idea stayed with me: Seeds of joy.

I started actively looking for joyful moments already present in my life and treating them as seeds of joy.

A few examples:

• Yesterday, I walked through a neighborhood where I used to live, and it brought me joy. Maybe I should walk there more often.
• Being able to write this blog and express what’s on my heart brings me real joy.
• I also managed to solve a problem at work that I hadn’t known how to handle, and that brought me joy.

I’ve only just started, but I already feel that it’s a necessary step in dealing with what I’m experiencing. There’s still work to do.

Step 4: Remembering the People Who Helped Me—and Those I Supported

There have been people in my life who have truly helped me become who I am today. Sometimes I pause to think of them with deep gratitude.

Looking back, I realize that in many phases of my life, there were people who changed my path—helping me, supporting me, and making things easier.

I cannot thank you enough.

I’m still in touch with some of them; with others, I’m not. Sometimes I wish I had done more for them. I can only hope they forgive me for not fully understanding their impact at the time. Looking back now, that impact is much clearer.

I know that without these people, I would not be where I am today or have what I have.

On the other side of that equation—and maybe this isn’t a popular thing to admit—I sometimes like to think about the people I’ve helped.

It reminds me that I’ve done something good, and that brings me joy. Is that cringeworthy? Maybe. Still, I know I’ve supported people and tried to help where I could.

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My Conclusion

For me, a life full of joy is the kind of life that makes sense to live.

But to live a joyful life, you need to understand what actually brings you joy—and then consciously do more of it in both your personal and professional life.

You also need a vision for your life—something you’re moving toward. That vision creates excitement and helps you move forward, shifting your focus from the past to the future.

Finally, you need to recognize recurring negative feelings and intentionally replace them.

So, is this a defect in human code? For me, it isn’t.

But I do think it’s worth looking closely at the moment when the question first arises and understanding what lies behind it.

Perhaps it is fitting to close with Socrates’ words, as recorded by Plato in the Apology:

“The unexamined life is not worth living.”