This is something I’ve been pondering, probably all my life. Why are we here? What’s the meaning of it all? In some ways, this question turns life into a Curious George-like exploration—let’s see, let’s explore, let’s discover. My journey has been just that, filled with places, experiences, connections – all with their attendant emotions and outcomes and all part of an ongoing transformation from embryo to what I’ll call early elderhood.

I refuse to claim full elderhood status just yet. Everyone hitting 50 seems to be declaring they’ve entered their “wisdom years,” but does wisdom come simply with age? Experience helps, of course, but with everything changing so rapidly, gaining and sharing wisdom is an ongoing process. Besides, as we live longer, this stage of life might need further distinctions. So, I think of myself as a freshman elder—some wisdom to share, plenty still to gain, and, perhaps most importantly, the forgotten wisdom of childhood to rediscover.

Which brings me back to my purpose-of-life question and why forgotten wisdom matters. Lately, I’ve felt the pressure to figure it all out—time’s ticking, and I’d better assess whether I’m “getting life right” while there’s still time for a course correction.

Thankfully, I’m not alone in this search. Trial lawyer-turned-mystic Nanci Danison, in her book Backwards, shares insights from her near-death experience: our sole responsibility is to fully experience human life with as much unconditional love and curiosity as possible.

This echoes other spiritual wisdom—and modern science. Psychiatrist and neuroscientist Judson Brewer recently spoke about how paying attention with curiosity can rewire our deeply ingrained, often painful coping mechanisms. Funny enough, when we become truly curious, the notion of a “right way” fades, and life feels more open, even playful.

So, perhaps becoming an elder—at least a wise one—is also about becoming a child again. From this perspective, I see that life’s biggest questions both matter deeply and not at all. It’s about noticing and caring our way through life. Trusting that our unique human experience is our purpose—whether that’s running outside to play in the mud, tending to a sick child, or writing a novel. For me today, purpose looks like pausing, breathing, and simply being here, now.

Here’s to letting your curiosity guide you toward what matters most—and not at all.