VERITY LUSH: Maybe the purpose of life is to ensure we all enjoy it

Whilst watching A Dog's Purpose last weekend (through floods of tears and some concerns that I was scarring my kids for life), I wondered about the purpose of humans.

Saturday, 6th May 2017, 6:24 am
Updated Tuesday, 9th May 2017, 6:38 pm
Verity Lush

One day, it is game over for all of us. If the situation with North Korea isn’t resolved, then who knows when that day might arise.

But hopefully the human race will continue and evolve for millennia yet.

However, given that one day it will all be done and dusted, what is the purpose to each of us being here?

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I remember being a child and thinking about that, in the same way that you think of space as a kid and can’t quite comprehend that it simply goes on and on.

This is brain-boggling when you’re four.

Yet as an adult we lose that shock and begin to take things for granted, questioning instead the important yet mundane, such as our mortgage payments or getting the roof sorted.

I’ve heard children in school ask what is the point of life, if all that will happen is death, and that’s a really massive question.

In part, it’s existential – what does it mean to be human?

Is the point of life to continue the human race?

And if so, isn’t that a vicious circle of thought, for what’s the point of more humans if we can’t work out the purpose of our own path?

Or is the point to make others and ourselves happy, thereby accepting that we exist and live for the moments – perhaps the times we treasure make it all worth it, even if there’s no end purpose?

Obviously if you are religious, then your answers may be very different, based on your personal doctrine and beliefs.

But for the humanists among us, our thoughts may take a more philosophical bent.

Maybe the purpose of life is to enjoy it and to ensure, to the best of our ability, that those around us enjoy theirs, too.

To cosset each experience we have and to learn from them.

Or perhaps it’s to enjoy beer and pizza. Either way sounds good to me.


My husband and I have begun using our child-free time to run together.

A disturbing turn of events, as surely sleeping would be more sensible, and the Me Of Old would have been horrified to hear about the Me Of Now.

In order to sustain these runs for longer, hydration has become an issue – especially on baking hot and sheltered fields and trails. Subsequently, we have invested in hydration packs.

I have little shame when running – sweating and panting in public whilst clad in Lycra is standard for runners and we tend not to care – but the hydration pack has made me look like Robert De Niro does when sporting his breastfeeding vest in Meet The Fockers.

Needs must.


Nobody tells you before you become a parent about just how much of your life will be spent washing.

And then, one day, your offspring are old enough to put their washing away themselves.

Unfortunately, this doesn’t equate to they will put it away themselves. Instead, they will leave it wherever you’ve left it, until you lose your mind enough to yell at them to put it away and then they still won’t put it away.

Instead, if they’re anything like my eldest daughter, they’ll simply put it back in the dirty washing basket. Clean.

Not having been worn since you last washed it.

But, apparently, requiring less effort than opening a wardrobe door and hanging it up.