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So I am a recovering nihilist. I deep-dived into nothingness in my late 20s and early 30s. Reading Camus was the only thing that got me out of that place, and I looked and read and thought and spoke to lots of people about it.
So, sure the universe is ultimately meaningless, and sure we’re meaning seeking beings, and sure that tension is the Absurd, and sure we need to lean into it and embrace it. But the metaphor of Sisyphus and his boulder… what if your boulder is so unenjoyable, so horrible to face every day, so intolerable… that it is impossible to imagine Sisyphus, or yourself, happy?
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