If we don’t believe there’s any hope that the future will be better than the present, that our life will improve in some way, then we spiritually die. Without hope, your whole mental apparatus will stall out or starve. Our psyche needs hope to survive the way a fish needs water. And some form of simple altruism or a reduction in suffering is always our mind’s go-to for making it feel like it’s worth doing anything. That’s a story your mind spins to make it worth waking up in the morning: something needs to matter because without something mattering, then there’s no reason to go on living. Now, aren’t you just as cute as a button! Now, you might be thinking, “Well, Mark, I believe we’re all here for a reason, and nothing is a coincidence, and everyone matters because all our actions affect somebody, and even if we can help one person, then it’s still worth it, right?” Okay, where were we? Oh yeah! The incomprehensibility of your existence-right.
Isn’t it cute? Here, I’ll wait while you Instagram it. I even made a winky-smiley face with the steamed milk. Is it too early to have this conversation? Here, have another coffee. And you-like me, like everyone-then project that imagined sense of importance onto the world around you because it gives you hope. You care because, deep down, you need to feel that sense of importance in order to avoid the Uncomfortable Truth, to avoid the incomprehensibility of your existence, to avoid being crushed by the weight of your own material insignificance. You care, and you desperately convince yourself that because you care, it all must have some great cosmic meaning behind it. It doesn’t care if the forests burn or the ice melts or the waters rise or the air simmers or we all get vaporized by a superior alien race. It doesn’t care if a celebrity gets caught doing cocaine while furiously masturbating in an airport bathroom (again). It doesn’t care if the Democrats or the Republicans win the presidential election. This is probably just one of the reasons why I’m not employable.īut seriously, how could you tell someone, in good conscience, to “have a nice day” while knowing that all their thoughts and motivations stem from a never-ending need to avoid the inherent meaninglessness of human existence?īecause, in the infinite expanse of space/time, the universe does not care whether your mother’s hip replacement goes well, or your kids attend college, or your boss thinks you made a bitching spreadsheet. Not exactly stellar customer service, either. And it’d take a while to write, meaning the line of morning rush-hour customers would be backed out the door. I’d have to write it in really tiny lettering, of course. We are inconsequential cosmic dust, bumping and milling about on a tiny blue speck. And everything you think or do is but an elaborate avoidance of it.
And beyond a small group of people for an extremely brief period of time, little of what you say or do will ever matter.
One day, you and everyone you love will die. If I worked at Starbucks, instead of writing people’s names on their coffee cup, I’d write the following: Just like The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*ck questioned our conventional wisdom on what makes us happy, Everything is F*cked questions our assumptions on what makes life worth living. The following is an excerpt from my #1 New York Times Bestseller Everything is F*cked: A Book About Hope.
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