The question of our time, or rather the question of all-time, is can I create meaning in my insignificance? Most of us wonder, since life doesn’t appear to present us with any sort of inherently objective purpose for our existences, whether we could be happy while knowing how little we matter. This existential dichotomy exists in knowing that we’re ordinary people who seek some semblance of extraordinariness in order to feel that our lives matter; and thus, to become happy.

What is meaning? Can one attain a sense of it without being important on a grand scale or the cosmic one, an even unlikelier alternative? Philosophers have grappled with these two questions for centuries, but, in my humble opinion, they’re more amenable to resolutions than their appearances let on. If we were to consider the child version of Woody Allen’s character, Alvy, in Annie Hall, we’d remember his emotional…