The heroic virtue of the daily grind

Of late, when I’m asked – “How have you been?” or “What have you been up to?” – I draw a blank. 

What do you say about the repetitiveness of the daily grind? How do you respond when all you’re doing is simply getting on with the everyday-ness?

A work week with the squeezing in of some daily exercise, some mindless Netflixing, a few chores and a lot of traffic, followed by weekends with cleaning, some reading and gardening and the occasional brunching. 

And then, repeat.  

Most days are alike, their challenges and easiness similar. 

To answer the question, “So, what’s up with you?” with “Oh, nothing really. Just existing and letting life live” seems dull. Seems.

Is this because we feel compelled to share only the significant things, believing that only such things portray our lives as having meaning and purpose: Promotions, job changes, layoffs, pregnancies, weddings, divorce, differences in the family, starting-up, failing? 

Are people interested in hearing about the small-but-precious-to-you nuggets? Enjoying your job, setting a personal best fitness record, feeling thrilled about your dog learning a new trick, marvelling at the sprouting of seeds in your balcony garden, having long conversations with close friends, coming home to warmth and love.

Or, am I finding myself with less to say because of a diminishing need to attribute some deep meaning and purpose to all these things, instead just enjoying them as they happen?

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As an 18-year-old living alone and away from home for the first time and desperately seeking to have my life amount to something, find meaning and purpose, I gravitated towards the philosophy section of the university library. Among the books and essays I read was Albert Camus and his philosophy of the absurd, from which I instantly disconnected. 

I wanted purpose in every little act and decision, and here Camus was telling me there was no answer to that ultimate quest to find the meaning of existence. Truly absurd, I thought then. 

With age, many of us would attest that while we cannot escape asking ourselves the “what is the meaning of life” question now and then, we also accept we are no closer to finding a satisfactory answer. And, most of us have come to live with this paradox - of wanting to find purpose and meaning and not arriving at it.  

To aid this acceptance process, I’m trying to undo some of my unCamusianism by re-reading Camus and this time, his ideas resonate with me more. His understanding of the absurd is best captured in the image he paints in The Myth of Sisyphus – of Sisyphus straining to push his rock up the mountain, watching it roll down, and then going after the rock to begin all over again. 

Like Sisyphus, we cannot help but continue to ask after the meaning of life, only to see our answers tumble back down. We are unable to free ourselves from “this longing to solve, this need for clarity and cohesion”, Camus writes, but adds that we must accept the absurdity of not finding that clarity. 

That comes with that other dreadful feeling, existentialism. And, Camus answers why existentialism need not be all despair, instead advocating for the happy acceptance of this lack of meaning, like he imagines Sisyphus does when the rock goes tumbling down repeatedly. “Each atom of that stone, each mineral flake of that night-filled mountain, in itself forms a world. The struggle itself toward the heights is enough to fill a man's heart. One must imagine Sisyphus happy.”

One must imagine Sisyphus happy.

Acknowledging this struggle to find meaning and purpose shows we can accept our limitations. It also shows our resolve to go beyond what is possible. Camus’ writings are often misunderstood as gloomy but he holds up hope consistently, advocating for the appreciation of gradualness, patience and care.

If we are all Sisyphus, condemned to eternally roll our boulder – or in this case, the daily grind – then why not learn to happily roll the boulder (“One must imagine Sisyphus happy”)?

The interpretation that gives me the most comfort and allows me to accept that it’s okay not to have anything to say about life as it is now, is this: Sisyphus committed to his daily grind of getting the boulder up the hill, and Camus never once imagined that there was hope for a better stone or a shorter hill.

The moral essentially was short-term commitment to the best available course of action, the results notwithstanding. A commitment that attributes a heroic virtue to this boulder’s daily grind.