Somewhere in a gray city sits a man in his home. He has lost everything. His wife has left him. His boss at work fired him. The economy is in shambles, and his retirement fund’s stock investment portfolio collapsed like the house of cards it had always been. He has no money nor love. Nor purpose. 

He did everything expected of him. Starting as a child, he excelled in school beginning from first grade right until he received his high school diploma. He attended a prestigious university for college, earning high marks that allowed him to enroll in a well-respected post-graduate program soon after his socially-mandatory four years of undergrad. Afterwards, he applied for a position at the nationally-renowned firm in the popular city where everyone lived. The competition was fierce, and he vigorously struggled to prove himself to the firm’s managers that he alone deserved the privilege of entering their company. He landed the job. 

Then, he tirelessly devoted himself to his profession and threw himself into the even more brutal arena of office politics. Despite the odds and the many talented rivals that he found himself pitted against, he managed to achieve success. He did not always attain the promotion or recognition he desired, but he found victory over the long term. Slowly, if not ever so gradually, he climbed the hierarchical ladder. Painstakingly, he ascended the socio-economic mountains. He bypassed his many rivals, some of whom he once considered friends. He was a winner.

Along the way, he met the love of his life. They dated for the socially-appropriate length of time before they got married in an elaborate ceremony. They bought a home. They created and raised children. They made sure to participate in enough activities and charitable responsibilities so that those in their neighborhood and among their wider social circle would think highly of them and, when possible, even grow jealous of them. His life echoed as a model of success to those who knew him. 

Yet now he sits alone. He sits by his dinner table. In the dark. The table is set against a window so that he can peer into the night sky outside. He reaches for his revolver, unlocks the wheel, and enters a single bullet into one of the chambers. Only one is needed. He presses the barrel against his temple. A breeze of wind that wanders through the open windows wafts under his chin, teasingly tickling him for the brief time it touches him. 

Just before he commits the unthinkable and the irreversible, he dare bemoan his fate to the heavens. “Why?” he demands an answer to the expanse. “Why did I labor so consistently to end with nothing? Why devote myself to love so tirelessly to become alone? Why did I sacrifice  my time and pleasure for the sake of others? What was the point? Why me?”

Suddenly, a miracle. An angel, a being of pure light, appears before him. It flashes just beyond the window in a form no larger or smaller than the man. It smiles at the stunned man, and gently motions for him to set down his gun. The bewildered man complies. 

“You ask many questions,” the angel tells him. “Behold, I have come to you. But listen, I have a condition. You have many questions, but I am obliged to answer only one. Thus, you must ask only that which you need to know, and not what you must. The answer not to the questions that burn most intensely in your heart, but the one that will allow it to continue beating. Not the one that will give you a gentle night’s rest, but rather the one that provides you the opportunity to even lie down. So prepare yourself, and then ask.”

The man thinks hard. He has so many questions to consider, so many options to choose. So many riddles about his life and circumstances float before him. Too many riddles regarding his misery spread across his table of choices, each enticing him to a delicious solution. After all, he has the luxury of a definitive answer. His mind wanders so that he even fancies more exotic ideas; how to better society, political dilemmas, economic conundrums, mysteries of science, nature, and the beyond. But as tempting those questions may be, he returns to selfish interest. He wonders howto reverse his losses? Or even, perhaps, how to bring ruin to those who pained him? He thinks hard. 

Eventually, he comes to a decision. “Why does the universe need me?” The angel smiles. “Behold, you shall find your answer.” The angel lifts a shining hand, and points to the door behind the man. “On the other side of that door, the one that loves you most dearly shall provide your answer.” Then, the angel disappears in a flash, as suddenly as it came. 

The man stands, and faces the door. The angel said the one who loves him the most, but who could that be? 

One of his grandparents? No, it has been long since they died. His father or mother? Also no, as they see him as a disappointment to their own aspirations. One of his uncles or aunts? Doubt it, for their own troubles occupy their minds. A cousin? Hardly so, for they barely know him; family is a symbol that lost its meaning years ago. His children? A thin chance, for they ignore him now that he cannot provide or solve their own needs. One of his friends? Impossible, he lost them along with his fortunes. His wife? Hah, she deserted him before his friends. So then who?

He hears a small scratch against the brittle wood of the door. An innocent and subtle sound against the deafening seriousness of the situation. He opens the door. Before him, on the other side, is his little dog. 

“Why does the universe need me?” The man asks the dog. “What is the point of my life? Or anyone’s life for that matter? Why do I breathe and live? For what purpose was I put on this Earth? Why do I exist? Is there some higher meaning that I serve? Is an order that I rationalizes my suffering? Where in this mundane world can I find fulfillment? For what cause can I devote myself to and make better? To whom can I contribute to in a way no other person can? Why should society care whether I live or die? Why does the universe need me?”

It is the most crucial question. The greatest question for any single person to ever ask. The highest point of concern on the human hierarchy of needs. The inquiry that has always haunted human societies, that paralyzes communities of friends. The remark that individuals give when they prematurely skip to the ending chapter of their own autobiographies. The mystery that philosophers have devoted lengthy summaries to, that the wisest elders have debated endlessly. The dilemma that plagued Shakespeare’s Hamlet and shook the genius minds of figures like Nietzsche, Kirkegaard, and Camus. The puzzle that people interrogate themselves for years on when they find they can shake no answer from their family, friends, religious authorities, professional confidants, or therapists. This is the most defining question. 

The dog replies with one word. One word. 

She doesn’t give the man a long answer. She doesn’t give him an explanation that drawls sentence after sentence and consumes time like a glutton at a banquet. She provides no lengthy summary, nor a thorough academic article. She doesn’t read him any refined philosophical treatise or enlightening spiritual script. She doesn’t lecture him about the secrets of the heavens or the mysteries of the earth. There is no long monologue about the continuity of time and space, the eternality of every atom and molecule, or the immortality of the universe. There is no great realization about obscure subjects like black matter, alien life, or dark energy. There is no ethereal awakening on the reality of life, death, and whatever comes after. There is no speech. There isn’t a paragraph, or a sentence for that matter. Not ten words, or 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, or even 2. 

No, the dog replies with one word. Just one word. 

“Walk.”

The man blinks. Then silence creeps into the home. It slithers into the space between the man and dog, killing any hopes of conversation and eliminates the opportunity for immediate clarification. A wide chasm of deafness enters and grows between the man and dog, even as the physical space remains the same. Then, the anger. 

The man angrily speaks. He murders the quiet with a sudden and heartless violence. “WHAT THE FUCK?!” He unloads a verbal barrage of artillery fire onto the dog, booming with each syllable. He retaliates against his pet with a fury that would make even the reddest devil blush. His voice roars with contempt and confusion, skyrocketing into a crescendo of curses and swears that bubbles throughout the room and condenses into every corner of the home. 

The man demands a reasonable answer. What is the meaning of this, this “Walk.” Is this a joke? Did the angel not promise him a definitive answer? What does this mean? Where does this answer come from? Why is this answer so meaningless?!

The last words of utter rage slip out of the man after an immeasurable amount of time. His cathartic chorus now over, he shambles back to the table and slumps into his chair. His thumping heart and rapid breath slow to a steady rhythm as the anger that fuelled his body’s fire cools down. With the anger gone, the man resorts to contemplation and near panic. 

How did this happen to him? Is it a misunderstanding? Did he mishear or misinterpret the angel? Or maybe it wasn’t even an angel - maybe it was a deception. Was he deceived by some malevolent entity? Is the dog even really his dog? Maybe it is a deception too. Is this some type of cruel joke? Who is toying with him? What is going on? 

Exasperated, he returns his focus to the dog and asks again, for clarity’s sake. “Why does the universe need me?” The dog replies again: “Walk.” 

The man shakes his head. “What ‘walk’?” The dog replies, “We walk. Outside walk.” The man, still bewildered, presses on. “Why walk?” The dog turns its head slightly clockwise, as if it was the man who said something incomprehensible. After a brief moment of mutual confused staring, the dog says, “Why not walk? Walk outside. Many smells outside. Smells fun. Squirrels outside. Chipmunks outside. Chase squirrels and chipmunks. Chase good. Chase outside. Walk outside. Walk good.” The man, discontented, demands, “But why me?” The dog smiles, dangling her tongue out of her mouth. “If not you,” she says, “Then who?” 

Silence returns for a brief sequel upon those last words. The man looks at his dog straight in the eyes, as if to somehow peer into her soul. No more words are spoken. No more clarifications or follow-up questions. 

Laughing, the man gets up and walks to the entrance. He beckons the dog to follow him, which she does with an excited bark. He fastens a lease to her collar, and together they exit into the wild quiet of the night. 

Sometimes it is best just to be.