Fifty or sixty years from now, I’ll be dead and, almost certainly, a century from today, everybody who knows me will be gone, too.
It’s not out of the question that human beings—or at least the particular version we’re familiar with—will be extinct in a couple of millennia, and, as everybody knows, it’s only a matter of time before a giant asteroid hits the planet or climate change does us in and all traces of homo sapiens are eradicated from the earth.
So, it seems sort of silly to be worried about accomplishing anything.
Whatever I do is not going to make any difference in the long run; it’s only a matter of time until no one will be around to appreciate my efforts. Why not save myself the effort and just stop trying to be creative or productive since who cares anyway after all?
Now, presumably, one could argue that what I do—or anyone does—matters to people who are around right now, including, I suppose, me, too.
But I don’t know.
When I reflect upon my accomplishments, such as they are, I’m singularly unimpressed. It’s hard for me to care about anything I’ve done unless somebody else does.
And since it’s not obvious that any of my efforts mean anything to anyone, how can I possibly maintain the illusion that any of it is worthwhile?
Consequently, the sensible thing to do, for me, and, I would argue, pretty much everyone else, is to do nothing.
Well, nap, maybe.
After all, when all is said and done, we may as well just be done with it. No more senseless striving after unachievable goals. No more rat-racing among one’s fellow rats. No more worrying about what we have to do and what will happen if we don’t.
Finally, we can all stop pretending that anything anyone does means anything at all.
And, we can all stretch out on the couch and take a nap.
It’s not out of the question that human beings—or at least the particular version we’re familiar with—will be extinct in a couple of millennia, and, as everybody knows, it’s only a matter of time before a giant asteroid hits the planet or climate change does us in and all traces of homo sapiens are eradicated from the earth.
So, it seems sort of silly to be worried about accomplishing anything.
Whatever I do is not going to make any difference in the long run; it’s only a matter of time until no one will be around to appreciate my efforts. Why not save myself the effort and just stop trying to be creative or productive since who cares anyway after all?
Now, presumably, one could argue that what I do—or anyone does—matters to people who are around right now, including, I suppose, me, too.
But I don’t know.
When I reflect upon my accomplishments, such as they are, I’m singularly unimpressed. It’s hard for me to care about anything I’ve done unless somebody else does.
And since it’s not obvious that any of my efforts mean anything to anyone, how can I possibly maintain the illusion that any of it is worthwhile?
Consequently, the sensible thing to do, for me, and, I would argue, pretty much everyone else, is to do nothing.
Well, nap, maybe.
After all, when all is said and done, we may as well just be done with it. No more senseless striving after unachievable goals. No more rat-racing among one’s fellow rats. No more worrying about what we have to do and what will happen if we don’t.
Finally, we can all stop pretending that anything anyone does means anything at all.
And, we can all stretch out on the couch and take a nap.
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