So... why am I alive?

I asked myself this question while sitting in my kitchen. I had just finished watching a movie where a character reads a great deal, so I'd originally asked why we read, incorporating my sister in the conversation. The point I came to was "to live a life that isn't mine." I later adapted it to "experience" in lieu of "live", but same basic concept. So, after coming to that answer, I asked myself "So [if I read to live a life that isn't mine]... why am I alive?" I asked this quietly, out loud, to myself, with only the dog nearby (my sister had gone away). I added (still out loud, yet hushed and to myself) "not in a 'wo is me' or 'my life isn't worth living' type deal, but simply 'if I live to experience a different live through reading, than am I actually attempting to make my own life exciting, or compelling, or worth living?" I continued to sit in my chair for a while, just staring at the ceiling. I eventually decided that an answer would not actually come to me. A grizzled genius would not make a profound statement to me that would simplify it all into a succinct single sentence that explained everything to me. No, I decided that life was worth living because I 'was.' I just needed to keep living until I looked back upon my deeds and said to myself "that was the best story I could ask for."
(Written 12/9/15)