What To Do When Your Teen Asks: Do People Really Find Life Worth Living?
I was loading the dishwasher after school last month, crumbs from my 16-year-old Leo’s granola bar sticking to my sock, when he asked it out of the blue, half mumbled into his phone: “Do you ever wonder? Do most people actually think life is worth living?”
I almost dropped the ceramic mixing bowl I was holding. I’d just been mentally running through my grocery list, wondering if we had enough laundry detergent for the week, so the question hit me like a cold splash of water. My first instinct was to blurt out the line I’ve been trained to say: Of course it is! What a silly question. But I bit that back. Last winter, when Leo failed his first AP Bio test and his best friend moved across the country, that’s exactly what I did, and he just nodded, went to his room, and didn’t bring up how he felt again for three weeks. So I leaned against the counter, wiped my wet hands on my jeans, and said, “What made you think of that today?”
He put his phone down, pushed his half-drunk iced tea around the table. Says he’s been scrolling Reddit threads and TikTok talks where people say everyone’s just faking it. Working 40 hours a week just to pay rent and buy groceries, too tired to do anything fun, then you retire and your body hurts. “All the adults I know are tired all the time,” he says. “You work, dad works, you come home, do dishes, mow the lawn, go to bed. What’s the point of all that?”
I pulled two root beers from the back of the fridge, brushed a stack of homework off the kitchen table, and sat down with him. I didn’t give him the scripted answer I would’ve come up with five years ago. I told him the truth instead: “You’re right, most days are pretty boring, and I’m tired a lot. Last week I had a migraine all day, the car needed new brakes that cost $600, and I forgot to pick up your hoodie from the dry cleaner like you asked. I went to bed that night thinking, what even was the point of today?” I paused, then told him about the walk I’d taken with our dog the night before. “But yesterday, I walked Milo after dinner, and it was that warm, rainy spring weather, and the neighbor’s lilac bush smells so strong it makes your eyes water. I stopped for five minutes just to smell it, and I thought, huh. That’s okay. That’s worth showing up for, even on the bad days.”
I’ve been a part-time 5th grade teacher for 12 years, and I’ve gotten this question, in softer forms, from kids as young as 10. They see the news, they hear us complain about bills and work stress, they see us scrolling our phones when we’re too tired to play, and then they see us post fake happy family photos on Instagram. It makes sense they think we’re faking the whole thing. The biggest mistake we make as adults is pretending we never feel the same way they do. We act like life is supposed to be one big happy adventure, so when they see the messy, boring, tiring parts, they think something’s wrong with them for noticing it.
The first thing I’ve learned from this, both with my own kid and my students, is don’t rush to answer the question. The question is almost never just about philosophy. It’s about whatever they’re carrying right now. For Leo, it turned out he was already stressing about college apps, worrying that he’d spend the rest of his life in the same grind he was already starting to hate. If I’d jumped in with a pep talk, he would’ve shut down. Asking what made them think of it gives them space to talk about their own stuff, instead of just arguing about your answer.
Second, don’t sugarcoat. Kids can spot a lie instantly. If you say “life is amazing!” when you just complained about your mortgage an hour ago, they’ll stop trusting what you say. Instead, admit the bad parts first. Agree that a lot of life is boring, tiring, and unfair. Then point out the small stuff that doesn’t make it to social media. You don’t have to talk about big achievements like promotions or vacations. Talk about the crispy edge of the french fry you got at lunch, the way your cat curls up on your lap when you’re sick, the 10 minutes you get to sit alone after everyone else goes to bed. That’s the stuff most of us actually live on, not the big moments we post about.
Third, if they’re open to it, do a small, low-effort experiment. We got an old dill pickle jar out of the recycling, washed it off, and called it our “worth it jar.” Every time either of us has even a tiny moment that feels like it’s worth showing up for, we write it on a scrap of paper and throw it in. It doesn’t have to be big. A note might say “Leo’s nachos were good tonight” or “Milo rolled in the grass and it was funny” or “My student drew me a picture of a dinosaur today.” Leo rolled his eyes at it at first, called it cheesy parent stuff, but he’s written almost half the notes in there so far. Last week when he was moping on the couch after a bad soccer practice, he pulled out a handful of notes and read them, and he didn’t say anything, but he didn’t go straight to his room like he usually does.
It’s been a month, and Leo still asks the question sometimes. Last week he said he still thinks half the people on the internet are right, that most people are just going through the motions. I don’t argue with him. I don’t need him to feel grateful or positive all the time, and I don’t have a perfect answer to give him. Some days, I wonder the same thing. But the jar’s still on the counter, and we still add notes. Some days, that’s all we can do. That’s enough, for now.
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