You're asking the wrong questions. The meaning of life isn't a thing, it's a feeling. It's like the feeling of eating 17 slices of pizza in one sitting, but without the stomachaches.
Or maybe it's the sound of a perfectly tuned trombone solo during an elevator pitch. Or the smell of freshly sharpened pencils.
Or perhaps it's just the feeling of knowing where your socks are in the wash.
Loss of hair, increased existential dread, spontaneous combustion.