The history of life is a history of conflict.
The so-called act of living on is, on one hand, the exchange of matter with the outside world—the seizure of nourishment needed for survival—and, on the other, the passive or active infliction of harm. It is an indispensable part of life's activities.
In other words, a life is a life of battle.
Then, what is the meaning of life?
There is none.
Humanity has existed in this world for only a few hundred thousand years, while stars have existed in this universe for billions. Does the universe care about you or me?
Of course it doesn't. Life is nothing but dust.
From a long-term perspective, the various activities of life have no real purpose or meaning. What are we living for? What should we do? What is the meaning of it all?
It was a question that everyone had probably pondered to some extent.
And this was existential anxiety.
If one couldn't overcome it properly, it would lead to a result.
Losing interest in everything.
Numbness.
Or, to put it bluntly, giving up.
It was easy to feel that your current life wasn't good enough, but also didn't seem all that bad. As far as the eye could see, there was nothing in particular you were interested in trying. Besides, even if you did something, even if you tried, it seemed to have no particular meaning. You had no desires, nothing in particular you wanted, and no particular way of life you yearned for.
So why not just maintain the status quo?
This created a sense of nihilism. It devoured life's passion and drive, causing life to wander through the logically erroneous Death Spiral, forever unable to take the right step.
How should one deal with this problem?
A classic answer