Still Here (And Still Wondering Why)

There’s an age-old question that has kept philosophers, theologians, and late-night thinkers busy forever: “Why are we here?”

I’ve heard it dressed up in classrooms, whispered in hospital rooms, debated in movies, and overanalyzed in books. It’s one of those questions that sounds deep even when you don’t fully understand it. Lately, I’ve found myself asking a slightly different version of it.

Not “Why are we here?”
But “Why am I still here?”

If you’ve followed along with my Still Standing Series—and some of the questionable decisions, near misses, and flat-out boneheaded risks I’ve taken over the years—you might be asking the same thing. There have been moments when I probably shouldn’t have walked away. Yet, here I am.

Sometimes after one of those “close call” memories surfaces, I’ll catch myself in front of a mirror. I’ll breathe on the glass just to make sure it fogs up. Just to confirm there’s still life in me. Still here. Still breathing. Still… something. 

And here’s the thing—this isn’t the first time I’ve wrestled with the “why.” If you grew up old school Catholic like I did, you didn’t have to guess too much. You had an answer. Clean. Direct. Memorized. The Baltimore Catechism—Question #150, if memory serves—asked it plainly: “Why did God make you?”

And the answer? “God made me to know Him, to love Him, and to serve Him in this world and to be happy with Him forever in heaven.”

Simple. Clear. No gray area. Yet, here I am. Decades later, still asking questions. Not because I don’t believe that answer. But because I’m trying to understand what it looks like now—after everything.

After the risks. After the near misses. After the years. I’ve lived long enough to start taking inventory.

I won’t be entering formation to become a deacon in the Catholic Church—that window has come and gone. That chapter, if it was ever meant to be, isn’t mine. But I’ve spent four-plus decades in Catholic education. Teacher. Administrator. Mentor. Occasional referee. If knowing Him, loving Him, and serving Him were the assignment… I’ve at least been showing up for class.

I’ve raised kids who turned into meaningful, faith-driven people. That matters. I’ve been a good brother… at least to my brothers. My sisters might have a slightly different scouting report. (If life had mulligans, I’d burn one there without hesitation.)

I’ve loved as a husband, a father, and now as a grandfather. That should count for something. So why does it still feel unfinished? Is there a bigger purpose still unfolding? Am I here because there’s one more thing I’m supposed to get right? Or is this what it is—this strange, in-between space where you’ve done a lot, but you’re not done?

It almost feels like a kind of earthly limbo—not in the theological sense, but in that quiet, nagging way where you wonder: “Did I miss something?” “Am I still being shaped?” “Or am I being given time to shape someone else?”

Part of me wonders if life is less like a straight path and more like a series of retakes. Not reincarnation in the traditional sense—but something closer to refinement within the same life. Same soul. Same story. Just… more chances to get it right.

To know Him better. To love Him deeper. To serve Him a little more intentionally. 

The other day, someone brought up The Truman Show—and I haven’t been able to shake it.

The idea that everything in Truman’s life was placed there intentionally. Every person. Every moment. Every obstacle. Scripted.

What if… (and I say this knowing full well how strange it sounds)… What if life sometimes feels that way because, in a sense, it is? Not that we’re actors on a set, but that there is intention behind what we experience. That the people who enter our lives aren’t random. That the timing—however inconvenient or confusing—isn’t accidental.

Now here’s the uncomfortable twist: What if some of you are in my life because I still have something to learn? Or maybe… What if I’m still here because I still have something to give? 

And just when that thought starts to get a little too heavy… My brain goes one step further. What if this isn’t The Truman Show… What if it’s something closer to The Matrix?

Layers of reality. Questions about what’s real. The unsettling idea that what we see isn’t the full picture. Except in this version, the question isn’t “What is reality?” It’s: “What is my responsibility inside whatever this is?”

Here’s where I’ve landed—for now. Maybe the answer hasn’t changed. Maybe I’ve just outlived the simplicity of how it was first given to me. Because even now, it still comes back to that old-school truth:

To know Him.
To love Him.
To serve Him.

Just… in ways that look different at this stage of life. Quieter, maybe. Less about proving. More about presence. Less about building. More about pouring into what comes next. Mentorship. Guidance. Showing up. 

So yeah… I still don’t know exactly why I’m still here. Part of me is okay not knowing. Because as long as I’m still breathing on that mirror… There’s still time to live out the answer I learned all those years ago. Maybe that’s been the purpose all along.