As a kid, at about 6 or so, my father and I would go down to the lake and skip rocks.
At first mine would only go a few skips, but my fathers would go nearly 30.
Then I practiced and practiced.
By the time I was 7, I could make it to 15 skips.
By 8 I was at 25 skips.
By 9 mine could go farther than my fathers.
It was that day when my rock went 30 skips that I gazed wide eyed at the world.
I sat on the bank and stared at the lake.
I looked up at my father and asked a very dramatic question for a 9 year old.
"What is the meaning to life? Why do we live?"
Puzzled my dad asked "What do you mean?"
I responded with " I just spent 3 years trying to beat you, at skipping a rock across water of all things. So why?"
Still to this day 7 years later I don't have an answer to that question.