The Quest for Meaning

I used to think life's biggest questions were impossible to answer.

They’d show up unexpectedly—

Why am I here? What's the point of all this?

I tried to ignore them for a long time. What’s the point in asking something no one can answer? But the more I pushed them aside, the louder they became—until eventually, I couldn’t avoid them anymore.

What surprised me though was that even with years of searching, the answers didn’t come from where I expected. I’d been running after hidden truths, chasing insight like it was a destination. But the more I paid attention: The process of understanding was already happening inside me.

These questions weren’t obstacles. They were doorways—seeds that had been planted long before I ever noticed them.

And as I leaned in, I saw that the way I’d been looking at life was only part of the picture. There was something beneath it—

There isn’t just one way to see reality. There are different ways we come to know our inner world. I hadn’t recognised them before, but once I did, I saw how naturally we move through them.

The first is the simplest.

It’s the way most of us live by default.

It’s what you might call, below reason.

It’s when you trust what you can see, touch, and measure. If something can’t be proven or explained, it doesn’t feel real,

That was me for years.

If the sun rose, it was morning. If I worked hard, I'd get results. If someone said they loved me, I believed it—if their actions matched their words.

And for a while, that kind of clarity had me gallivanting around the world. Life felt predictable, like a map I could follow. I was young and adventurous and, though desperate for love, I had the time of my life.

But even then, something didn’t sit right.

The more I chased the sun, lived the day, and celebrated the night, the more that hollow ache grew. I kept pushing it down—telling myself I was fine—but the ache didn’t care. It just deepened.

And eventually, there was no outrunning it.

The pain cracked me open. And when it did, I finally was sat still long enough to face it.

What I found in that stillness was humbling.

I’d been living as if the only reality that mattered was the one I could grasp with my senses. But meaning—the kind that moves you, that connects you to life—doesn’t live on the surface.

It was like standing at the edge of the ocean and realising I'd spent my whole life studying the waves without once wondering about the depths beneath them.

That shift brought me into the next stage of perceiving the world:

*Faith within reason.

The world wasn’t just what I could see anymore. It became about what I could feel—and what I was willing to question.

The questions got bigger during that time.

I started to notice patterns I'd overlooked before:

• How certain moments—ones that seemed insignificant—held more weight than years of accomplishments.

• How connection sometimes appeared with strangers, while relationships I'd invested in felt empty.

I didn’t know what to do with those realisations.

And I hit that wall more times than I can count.

Because even as I explored these deeper questions, I was still making it all about me. And me was miserable.

What does this mean for me?

How does this shape my life?

What am I supposed to understand?

And then it comes, :

The perception of a true reality—the kind that breaks the illusion of separation—the kind that requires different questions entirely just to expand your mind and stretch your heart until it breaks open.

Because thats the truth to this life, you learn to suffer, painfully, and you will break a thousand times before and more. But that’s when you catch the first glimpse of faith above reason.

How do I come to know myself as a giver?

It sounds paradoxical, but that’s exactly what this kind of faith demands.

It requires inverting the entire way we experience reality—moving from self-concern toward bestowal.

Not giving because it feels good.

Not giving to get something back.

But giving because, in that moment, you sense that there’s no real separation between you and the other person.

Because faith above reason isn’t something the mind can contain.

It’s what happens when we step beyond the instinct to take and into the willingness to give-

That's where meaning begins, reaching out from the edge of ourselves.

Bradley J Cleary