Every person, who at least has a moderate sense of self-awareness, is, at some juncture in time, confronted by the realization that existence in its entirety (being), their own self included, is devoid of any inherent value. Upon this bleak realization, we are confronted yet again by another ugly truth that our lives are devoid of any inherent purpose. This existential crisis is due to the “death of God” from which value and purpose were traditionally derived. In actuality, this crisis of existence is due not only to “the death of God”, but also to the abolition of the transcendent and the eternal and thus the sobering cognition of the temporality of life and existence. Much has been already been written on this subject. The proposed solutions to this crisis? Suicide. Of course, upon this dismal epiphany, the thought that inevitably follows is that if “being” is devoid of value and purpose then life is not worth living. Alternatively, one might take a “leap of faith”, and reaffirm faith in god despite no actual reason for doing so except that the belief itself provides value and purpose to being. Sartre could be rendered as having said that one can embrace boldly the “absurdity” of living and all things and choose to live on regardless. This notion is noble, but it is much easier said than done. So, how can this be done? I offer to you, dear reader, an allegory. Shakespeare said it the best, “All the world’s a stage, and the men and women merely players.” So, consider the invested actor, his passion for the theatre and his acting. He recites his lines verbatim with grace and eloquence, and he plays his part flawlessly with conviction. He plays pretend so well that to the audience and even to himself he becomes the character which he portrays. This great actor, he knows that he merely serves a role; he knows that beyond the confines of his performance that his character has no value or purpose. Enter, smile, Exit. And yet, the great actor does not tire of acting, and when the great actor exits he does not regret that the show must go on without him; he is content to have played his part authentically. The great actor takes the role he serves seriously because he loves the theater in itself. I say that we all must ourselves become actors to bear the weight of ephemeral existence. We ought to take seriously our lives, the roles we serve, not because they have value or purpose beyond their confines but because we love life in itself. If we can muster the courage to adopt or create an image of ourselves, a character to portray, a role to serve, and if we strive to fill that role authentically, thoroughly convinced of our own performance, then our lives will have value and purpose within the confines of the world stage. When we stumble, forget our lines, lose our way in life, rather than lose courage, we must whisper to ourselves, “The show must go on!” And when comes the time for our exit, we must not regret that the show goes on without us; rather, we should be content if we have played our parts authentically. We must remember Augustus Caesar’s final words, “Have I played the part well? Then applause as I exit.”