Maybe Life Isn’t Broken — It’s Just Bad at Customer Service

I. The Onboarding Experience: Confusing, Loud, and Often Sticky

Let’s start at the beginning — birth.

Nobody asks you if you want to be born. There’s no opt-in, no user agreement (that you knowingly sign, anyway), and certainly no tutorial. One minute you’re nowhere, and the next, you’re blinking in fluorescent hospital light, screaming, and being wiped down like a salad bowl.

Congratulations! You're alive. Now good luck figuring out what that means.

There’s this unspoken expectation that we’ll “figure it out,” but no one ever tells us what “it” is. Is it happiness? Is it survival? Is it learning how to boil an egg and not cry in the canned goods aisle of a grocery store?

We spend years studying algebra, but no one teaches us how to say “I’m not okay” or how to leave a dinner party without feeling like a villain.

And yet, we go on.

II. Customer Support Is… Unavailable

Ever tried shouting your existential questions into the void?

“Why am I here?”
“What is my purpose?”
“Should I text them back or let it die with dignity?”

All you get is silence. Maybe a few birds. Maybe the unsettling sound of your fridge clicking.

Life’s customer service doesn’t answer — at least not in the way we expect. We want clarity, guarantees, discounts. But life gives us poetry, music, cracked friendships, and unexpected kindness from strangers who don’t owe us anything.

It gives us detours, the wrong people at the wrong time, a good haircut on a day when no one sees us, and heartbreaks that somehow break us open into better versions of ourselves.

It doesn’t explain. It reveals.

Usually when we’re not ready.

III. When the App Crashes Mid-Update

At some point, your system will crash. You’ll be lost, panicked, or numbly sipping coffee while staring at a window that no longer feels like a metaphor.

Maybe it’s grief. Or losing a job. Or realizing that you’ve become a stranger to your own reflection. Whatever it is, it’ll knock the wind out of you and delete your sense of direction like a GPS having a nervous breakdown.

The modern world will try to fix it for you.

It’ll offer self-help books, breathing apps, and soy-scented candles. Some of it helps. Most of it distracts. All of it tries to patch over something deeper: the aching knowledge that we are not in control, and maybe we never were.

But here’s the twist — sometimes the crash isn’t the end of the program. It’s the beginning of something else.

A reinstallation. A soft reset. A chance to delete all the updates you downloaded just to impress people who never saw you in the first place.

IV. The Warranty Is Hidden in the Small Moments

So what do we do with a life that won’t give us refunds or clear answers?

We find meaning where we can.

In late-night conversations that veer into the absurd.
In cooking a meal for someone who had a worse day than you.
In writing something no one may ever read, but that feels like oxygen while you’re doing it.
In the laughter that comes too hard, too soon, too loud — and feels like a jailbreak.

Maybe that’s all the warranty we get: small, unadvertised moments where being alive feels… not so defective after all.

Life may never run smoothly. It will never be fair, optimized, or glitch-free. But it can be honest, weird, tender, and once in a while, glorious in its stubborn refusal to make sense.

And maybe — just maybe — we don’t need answers.

We just need better questions. And maybe a nap.

Final Thought:

Next time you feel like your life is broken, like something is wrong with you, take a breath. Look around.

You’re running a beta version of consciousness on unstable hardware, in a world that updates faster than your soul can process.

Of course it feels off.

But that doesn’t mean you’re failing. It just means you’re human.

And somehow, against all odds, still beautifully… running.