Let’s talk about existential crisis.
Not the kind that is casually thrown around like, “Ugh, I am having an existential crisis about what to order for dinner,” but the real one. The kind we think we understand until it actually hits us. I used to use the term loosely too. And then I went through it. And I genuinely thought I was going mad.
One possible trigger for it, I later realized, was how protectively I was raised. I grew up shielded enough that I did not fully grasp how unsafe, unpredictable, and negative the world could be. And once that reality hit me, I could not unsee it. The awareness did not come in parts; it came all at once. After that, my mind started spotting the negative in everything, even where it did not need to.
My fourth year of college was, quite frankly, an existential crisis in human form. No subplots. No distractions. Just me and my thoughts, locked in a very intense, very unskippable debate.
An existential crisis is very real. It does not arrive with drama or warning signs. It settles in quietly, and then proceeds to interrogate every decision you have ever made. It makes you rethink everything you have ever done, reconsider every plan you had for your life, and suddenly realize how terrifyingly precious time actually is. Because yes, we all have a finite amount of it here on Earth and no productivity hack can change that.
It also teaches you a hard truth that no matter how much control you want over life, uncertainty is inevitable. Always. Trying to micromanage everything does not make life safer; it just exhausts your mind. Being a control freak is not a personality trait, rather it is a fast track to burnout. And no one is aspiring to that. Additionally, another thing alongside this is the fact that no one is coming to save you – I mean, no one is. Your supporters might motivate or give a shoulder, but that is it. Not that I am downplaying other’s help, but what I mean is that other people can’t “fix” your problem, they can only “support” during the process. The real work done to get out of the problem can only be done by your own-self.
This phase also made me realize something deeply personal. Unconditional love, in its truest form, comes only from family and the closest friends. And when I say closest friends – I know there are many people who struggle to find the right people to become good friends with, so this mostly points to only the family for the majority. And then I know that there are people who don’t even have the right support in their family – well, for you people, I mean anyone in the world who genuinely cares about you.
Of course, there are kind and selfless people in the world who would help and be nice to you without having any ulterior motives, but they are rare. Not because kindness is a negative trait, or because humans are incapable of it, but because being kind without being crushed by bullies takes immense strength. No wonder the kindest people are celebrated as heroes, when kindness should really be the bare minimum we owe each other as humans.
Another thing I realized is that everyone had a different past, a different motives and different idealogies. It took me till the very end of college to realize this. Not everyone thinks like you. Not everyone is trying to achieve the same things as you. That does not make them any lesser or greater than you.
My final year of college was probably the strangest one compared to everyone else’s. While others were busy hanging out, ticking off bucket lists, and soaking in their last moments on campus, I was mostly isolated, genuinely feeling like I was staring at walls for hours. It was not glamorous. It was not social. But it was deeply reflective. That phase made me question stereotypes, motivational quotes, life advice, and all the neatly packaged narratives we have been taught to believe.
It felt like my third eye had opened. And oddly enough, I have never felt more connected to my younger self than I do now. The curiosity returned. The honesty returned. Even the questions I once ignored started to feel necessary.
My existential crisis brought me here, and that is why mentioning it feels like the least I can do. When something dismantles you and rebuilds you entirely, it deserves acknowledgment.