What To Do When Your Teen Asks: Do People Really Find Life Worth Living?
The pasta water was still steaming in the sink, I was wiping crumbs of garlic bread off the counter, and my 16-year-old son looked up from his phone propped against the toaster and asked, “Do people really find life worth living?” Just like that, no lead-up, no shaky voice that would signal panic. Just a blunt, curious question, the kind he’s started asking more lately now that he’s old enough to see past the rulebook we’ve handed him.
I dropped my sponge in the sink. Two years ago, when he asked if climate change would kill us all before he turned 30, I’d babbled some upbeat nonsense about innovations and kid activists and he’d rolled his eyes and gone back to his room, not bringing it up again for a year. I didn’t want to do that this time. So I wiped my hands on my jeans, pulled out the wooden stool next to him, and said, “What made you ask that?”
He pulled up a TikTok, a 20-something guy sitting in his car after work, talking about how seven out of 10 people hate their jobs, how most spend 40 years working a job they don’t like just to pay for a house they’re never in, how almost everyone dies wishing they’d done something different. “You and Dad always tell me to work hard so I can get a good job,” my son said. “But if most good jobs still suck, what’s the point of all the work?”
I didn’t give him the cheery speech I’d rehearsed in my head a hundred times as a high school teacher and a mom. Instead I told him the unpolished truth. “Some weeks, I get it,” I said. “Last week, I spent three nights straight grading papers, forgot to buy milk, had to reschedule our hike because of a last-minute parent meeting, and I went to bed every night thinking, what is this even for? I don’t feel like I have some big amazing life that’s worth all the hassle most days.”
I paused, then told him the part no one talks about much when we’re selling kids the good life. “But it’s not the big stuff that makes it worth it, for me anyway. It’s not the degree or the pay raise or the nice vacation. It’s that 10 minutes after you and your brother leave for school, when I get to drink my coffee hot, and the cat sits on the windowsill in the sun. It’s when we all go get ice cream after your soccer games, even when you lose, and you guys argue about who gets the extra sprinkles. Those small bits add up to more than the big stuff, for me.”
I’ve talked about this question with other teachers at school, and a lot of us have noticed more teens asking it lately, especially after years of disrupted school and constant bad news about the economy and the climate. It’s easy to panic when you hear this question. Our first instinct is to either brush it off (“Of course it’s worth living, what a silly question”) or jump straight to crisis mode (“Are you okay? Do you need to see a therapist?”). Don’t get me wrong—if your kid has been withdrawing, sleeping all the time, or talking about hurting themselves, you absolutely need to get them help. But most of the time, this question isn’t a cry for crisis intervention. It’s just a kid growing up. They’re old enough now to see that the story we tell them—work hard, get the job, have the family, and you’ll be happy—isn’t true for a lot of people, and they want to know what’s actually real.
The first small shift I recommend is to stop trying to fix it or give a perfect answer. Asking “What made you think of that?” first lets kids say what they’re actually thinking, instead of shutting down when they get a canned response. Second, don’t lie about the hard parts. Kids know life is hard. They see the news, they see us stressed about money or work, they see their friends’ parents get divorced or laid off. Telling them everything is great just makes them think you don’t get it, and they won’t ask again. Third, share your own small good things, not your big achievements. Big goals feel far away for a 15 or 16 year old. Talking about how you love the 5 minutes you spend weeding your garden every evening, or how you look forward to your weekly phone call with your best friend, is something they can actually connect to.
A week after that first conversation, I picked him up from soccer practice, and he brought it up again before I even turned the car key. He said his friend Javi told him Javi’s dad hates his accounting job, but every night he spends an hour working on model trains in the garage, and that’s what he lives for. “So maybe no one thinks the whole entire life is worth it,” my son said. “Just the parts you pick for yourself?” I said that sounded about right to me.
Last week, I went to grab his notebook off the kitchen counter after he left for a date with his girlfriend, and it was open to a page he’d titled “Worth it.” It was a messy list, scribbled in pencil: mango sago from the boba shop, beating dad at Mario Kart, cat on my lap when I’m sick, sunset after rain, when coach lets us end practice early. No big entries about getting into college or having a great career. Just the small stuff. I closed the notebook and left it where it was, didn’t mention I’d seen it.
We still have nights where he slumps at the dinner table and says everything feels stupid and pointless. I don’t give him a speech anymore. I just pull out two spoons and the carton of mint chocolate chip we keep in the freezer for those nights, and sit with him at the counter. We don’t have to answer the question for good. He’s got time to figure out his own answer.
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