What To Do When Your Teen Asks: Do People Really Find Life Worth Living?
I was scraping congealed marinara off a ceramic pasta bowl Tuesday night, the dishwasher humming over the murmur of the TV in the living room, when my 16-year-old Jax pushed off the kitchen counter where he’d been leaning and asked it. “Do people really find life worth living?” he said, thumb still hovering over his phone screen. “Like, actual adults. Or are we all just faking it until we die?”
I dropped the rubber spatula I was holding, and it clattered against the side of the sink. The golden retriever, who’d been napping under the table, lifted her head like she was also waiting for my answer. I’d spent the last three years volunteering one afternoon a week in my district’s high school counseling office, listening to kids ask all kinds of hard questions, but I still wasn’t ready for it out of nowhere, after taco Tuesday leftovers.
I didn’t give him the pep talk I would’ve fumbled through five years ago. I didn’t say “of course it is!” or “you have so much to live for!” I just sat down on the floor next to the dog, nudged her chewed-up rawhide out of the way, and said, “What made you ask that today?” That’s the first thing I tell other parents now: don’t rush to answer. Just ask that one specific question first. It gives them space to say what’s actually on their mind, instead of you panicking and shutting the conversation down.
Jax said he’d been scrolling a thread on Reddit where a bunch of 27 and 30-year-olds were talking about how they only get up in the morning for their kids and their morning coffee. No one said they loved their jobs. No one said they felt like their work mattered. He said the whole thing lines up with what he sees already: get up at 6:30 for school, sit through seven classes, do three hours of homework, go to bed, repeat. After that, it’s four years of college debt, then 40 years of working to pay bills, then retire and wait to die. If that’s the script, why bother?
I get it. I’ve had that same thought standing in line at the grocery store, staring at a $12 gallon of milk, after a day of back-to-back meetings and a missed lunch. Most of us don’t talk about that part around kids. We only post the big wins, the vacation photos, the promotion announcements. We act like every day as an adult is fulfilling and meaningful, so when kids see the messy, boring middle, they think something’s wrong, or that the whole thing is a lie.
I told him the truth that night. I said some days I don’t think life is worth it. I told him about two weeks before, when our water heater broke at 9 p.m., we spent $1,800 replacing it, I spent three and a half hours on hold with our home insurance just to find out they wouldn’t cover any of it, and I missed my monthly book club to wait for the plumber. That day, I sat on the basement floor after the plumber left and thought, this is just garbage. That’s the adult life no one warns you about.
But then I pointed to the half loaf of leftover garlic bread sitting on the counter, still slightly warm. I pointed to the dog, who’d gone back to chewing her rawhide, slobber getting it all over my kitchen rug. I reminded him of the crooked unicorn drawing his 10-year-old sister had taped to the fridge the week before, the one with glitter glue that still comes off on my hand when I grab the ketchup. I said most days aren’t all good or all bad. Most days are just a bunch of tiny things, some suck, some don’t, and you just stack the ones that don’t suck next to each other. Some days they add up enough, that’s enough.
That’s the second thing I tell other parents and teachers: don’t give them the big, grand answer they’re probably expecting. Give them the small, real one that’s happening right in front of you. If you’re at the park when they ask, point to the way the sunset hits the oak tree. If you’re eating chips on the couch after a movie, say “these salt and vinegar chips are pretty good, that’s one thing today.” You don’t have to convince them life is always worth living. You just have to show them that it’s okay that it’s not always great, and that the good parts don’t have to be big to count.
I always make a point to check for context, too. If your kid says they’ve been feeling like nothing matters for weeks, if they’re sleeping all the time or not eating, that’s when you reach out to a counselor or a doctor. But more often than not, this question is just part of growing up. It’s how teens test what they’ve been told about life, and figure out what they believe, instead of just taking what adults give them.
Jax didn’t have some big epiphany that night. He just nodded, tore off half the garlic bread for himself, and said “fair” before heading back to his room to play Valorant with his friends. Last Saturday, we picked up lavender lattes after his morning soccer practice, and sat in the car because it was pouring rain. He stirred his latte, and said, “You know that question I asked the other week? I get what you meant. Sometimes the small stuff adds up.” Then he got a text from his friend, grabbed his backpack, and ran off to see a movie.
I still don’t have a perfect answer to the question. Some days I still think it’s all just a bunch of hassle. Most days, though, I’m over here eating slightly stale garlic bread, wiping glitter glue off my hand, and that’s enough. It’s not the answer any of us are taught to give, but it’s the one that works, so far.
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