What To Do When Your Teen Asks: Do People Really Find Life Worth Living?
It was taco Tuesday, I was scraping congealed cheese off a plate into the garbage when Lila asked it. She was leaning against the kitchen counter, one sock slipping down her ankle, chipped black nail polish on the hand she used to twist the hem of her faded Phoebe Bridgers hoodie. “Do people really find life worth living?” she said, like she was asking if we had more sour cream.
I almost dropped the plate. I’d spent all day answering work emails, helping her edit her history paper, picking up her 12-year-old brother from soccer practice, so I wasn’t ready for an existential question at 7:30 PM. My first instinct was to laugh it off, or blurt “Of course it is, what a silly question” or list all the good things she has going for her: her friends, her soccer position, college ahead of her. But I remembered a conversation a month prior, when another parent at a school conference said her 15-year-old had asked the same thing, she’d shut it down to avoid making a big deal out of it, and he never brought it up again. So I wiped my hands on my dish towel, sat down on the linoleum next to the recycling bin (the only empty spot in our tiny kitchen) and said, “What made you think about that lately?”
She said it came up in AP Psych. They were doing a unit on life satisfaction, and the class got off topic talking about their parents. One kid said his dad works 60 hours a week and says the only good part of his day is going to bed. Another said her mom complains about her job and her marriage and says the only thing she looks forward to is retirement. Lila said she’d been noticing it too: I complain about my neck after sitting at my desk all day, my best friend complains about her commute, her grandma complains about her arthritis. No one walks around grinning saying “Oh life is so great!” All she sees is people going through the motions, waiting for the next big thing that never actually makes them happy.
That’s when it hit me: we do this, don’t we? As adults, we vent about the hard, boring, annoying parts of life all the time around our kids, but we rarely talk about the small good stuff that makes it worth showing up. We save that for late-night chats with our friends, or we think it’s too boring to mention. We show our kids the highlight reels: promotions, vacations, straight A report cards, but we don’t tell them about the 10 minutes of quiet coffee before anyone wakes up, or the way your favorite song comes on the radio just when you need it, or the weird lumpy carrot that makes you snort-laugh in the produce aisle.
I didn’t give her a philosophy lecture or a motivational speech. I just started listing the small things I’d thought were worth it that week. I told her about the squirrel that steals sunflower seeds from my feeder every morning, how I sit and watch him stuff his cheeks until he can barely move, and that 10 minutes before work is my favorite part of most days. I told her that when I picked up her brother from school Wednesday, he found a dead cicada and made me put it in a jar to “study” later, and I laughed so hard my sides hurt, and that was better than any fancy dinner I’ve ever paid for. I told her yeah, most days are hard. I hate paying the electric bill, I hate when I burn the toast, I hate that my back hurts after sitting too long. A lot of life is just boring, annoying stuff that you have to get through. But the small bits add up.
She rolled her eyes, like any teen would, but then she smiled and said, “Okay, I guess the late night boba runs with Mia after soccer are pretty good. No one posts those, because we just look messy and talk about how dumb our teachers are.” I said that’s exactly the kind of thing I’m talking about.
Since that night, I’ve talked to a handful of other parents and teachers about this question, and most of us have the same gut reaction: panic. We think if our kid is asking this, they must be in immediate crisis. To be clear: if your kid is talking about hurting themselves or ending their life, that’s a different situation—get help right away. But most of the time, when teens ask this question, they’re not suicidal. They’re just starting to see that adulthood isn’t the perfect fairy tale we sold them when they were little, and they’re trying to figure out if the whole thing is worth the effort.
There are three small, concrete things that worked for me that you can try too. First, don’t panic and don’t shut the conversation down. Just start with that question I used: “What made you think about that lately?” It lets them tell you what’s actually going on, instead of you jumping to conclusions or jumping in to fix it before they’re done talking. Second, don’t lie and tell them life is always amazing. Admit the hard parts first. If you hate your job most days, say that. If you’re tired of paying bills, say that. It makes the good parts way more believable when you do talk about them. Third, start naming the small good stuff out loud, every day. You don’t have to make a big deal out of it. Just say “This iced tea is perfect” when you’re sitting on the porch, or “I love that song, let’s turn it up” when you’re driving. Over time, they start to notice those moments too.
Last week, we were driving home from soccer practice, it was pouring rain, and Lila was scrolling through TikTok while I drove. Halfway home, she put her phone down, looked out the window at the street lights reflecting on the wet road, and said, “I had one of those squirrel moments today. After practice, I sat on the bleachers and ate a peanut butter granola bar and watched the sunset and didn’t check my phone for 15 minutes. It was good.”
She hasn’t asked the question again, but I know she’s still thinking about it. I still have days where I wonder the same thing, honestly. Some weeks, the small good stuff is hard to find. But we keep looking for it, together. That’s enough for now.
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