rock

Is your life a giant bag of screwups, fuckups, near misses, unrealized dreams, cancelled holidays, unexpected diagnoses, strained relationships, complete misunderstandings and crazy accidents?

Terrific!

Good friends die, enemies prosper, children grow up and blame you for their misfortune?

Marvelous!

Your marriage is dull and/or the single life is wanting, the cocktail parties are full of idiots, that lottery ticket is never the big winner, the thousand dollar mattress promising you restful sleep didn’t deliver, and your self-discipline vanishes every time you see a doughnut wearing a chocolate glaze?

Wonderful!

ChatGPT4 and the rest of the AI bandwagon is coming for your job, your paycheck, your identity and your dignity?

Superb!

Why is all this aggravation such stupendous news? Because you have arrived at the place of understanding that life is simply absurd. And you’re trapped like a rat in it. Unless, of course, you decide to take the next exit to nonexistence, which is always an option.

But if you decide to hang around, you’re now presented with what a beard-stroking psychologist would call “an opportunity for growth.”

To that end, we are not only pleased to point you towards the Class 2 philosophy known as SuperOptimism, we also want to credit our friend Albert Camus with penning the definitive treatise on such unpleasantness.

According to Al, you have three choices:

Believe in God and spend your time praying to be let into the gates of heaven.
Commit suicide.
Embrace the absurdity of existence and enjoy rolling your rock up the hill.

Camus encourages us to choose Door #3, and find happiness in our struggle by acknowledging its futility and thereby defying the gods. So why not join Albert in smiling at the ridiculousness of it all?*

* Especially if you wish you were a world-renowned poet but instead spend most of your time writing promotional copy for a chain of fast-casual restaurants.

Many centuries ago, zen monks of the Rinzai school disavowed the notion of man’s superiority to animals, plants, water, fire, or even the earth itself. These monks spent years communing with nature, never seeing another person as they retreated to the mountainous caves to meditate. They reached out their hands to the universe and became one with it. Their meditative skills equipped them with the skills to handle both the isolation and the elements in good health.

Later, 19th Century naturalist Henry Thoreau wrote of his fondness for solitude, wandering alone through the forests, beaches and back roads of Massachusetts. In fact, he gave himself a position which demanded he strike out from his one-room cabin no matter what the weather. “For many years I was self-appointed inspector of snow-storms and rain-storms, and did my duty faithfully…”

Today, we find ourselves in the crux of winter, amidst a pandemic, with more snow forecast in the coming days. What would Henry do? He’d bundle up, head outside and lose himself in the day. Not content to simply traipse through the cold, he would pause to listen to a storm and it’s special characteristics. He’d look closely at the snowflake, marveling at the amazing symmetry of each hexagonal formation. He might measure the accumulation. (And if he had a smartphone, he might take some pictures.

So the next time you see the flakes start to fall, why not go inspect them yourself. And while you’re at it, don’t forget to cozy up to a tree and offer your hand. Give a plant a warm greeting. Say hello to a small pile of dirt, or a nice fat rock, or a bird that has seen fit to remain near rather than flying south. All of a sudden, you have an infinite number of new friends* who remain constantly by your side, in “good” weather and “bad.”

*But take care with the snakes, you never know if they are poisonous.

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Why is Albert smiling?

Thoreau yourself in the snow.