Finding Joy in the Things that Don’t Matter

The first time I heard “nothing means anything” was in a meeting.

We were sitting around a table, discussing methods and techniques for dealing with stress in the workplace. (I work in marketing, and with it being a fast-paced industry, there’s naturally a heightened chance of stress.) The chat moved around the room, going person to person, until it came to Bob.

Bob is not his real name, but we can use it for the sake of clarity.

Bob told the room that he “doesn’t feel stress because [he] understands that nothing means anything.”

And right there, sat listening to him, I felt like he put into words something I’d been feeling for a long time but never acknowledged – or perhaps even knew I was feeling. Hearing those words set in motion a complete change in how I viewed the world.

The phrase “life-changing” is often thrown around with abandon, with things like a new flavour of Starbucks coffee being labelled as such. That phrase has been used so much that it now just means this thing is good, and I like it.

But I fear I’m going to use it, and mean it too: hearing those words was life changing… but not in a good way.

From that moment on, I was set on a journey that would lead me to where I am now, struggling to find any meaning in life and dealing with a constant state of apathy.

But we’re getting ahead of ourselves.

Stoicism

Before that moment, I’d had an interest in Stoicism.

Stoicism is the philosophy that originates from Ancient Greece and Ancient Rome, with the primary text being written during these eras. Its main teaching is understanding what you can and cannot control. The things you can control, you should care about. And the things you cannot control, you should be indifferent to.

By this point in my life, I’d read through Seneca’s Letters from a Stoic, as well as Marcus Aurelius’s Meditations, and felt that I had a solid grip of Stoicism. In fact, in that meeting where we were speaking about stress, there’s a good chance that I mentioned the Stoic teachings in my answer.

Stoicism had become a big part of my life. I used it to know which actions to take and which to avoid, I used it to regulate my emotions (which of course included stress), and I used it to be a better person to the people around me. Of course, nobody is perfect, and there were plenty of times when I didn’t follow the teachings of Stoicism as closely as I would have liked.

(As a brief aside, the majority of Marcus Aurelius’s Meditations are focused on the author giving himself a pep talk, reminding himself of the principles of Stoicism, and how he should apply them in his own life. It’s funny to think how a Roman emperor – for that’s what Marcus Aurelius was – wrote about much the same problems and struggles that we have today. The human condition really is eternal.)

For a long time, Stoicism was genuinely helpful. But then I heard those damn words from Bob.

Bob’s throwaway line– nothing means anything – led me to research the feelings that they had drummed up within. Through this research, I found Absurdism… and that’s where it all went to shit.

Absurdism

I’d been aware of the ideas of Absurdism for a while. Naturally, as you research philosophy – as I was doing with Stoicism – you come across other schools of thought organically. So, when I sat down to read about Absurdism, I already had a passing idea of what it was all about.

At its core, Absurdism is a philosophical movement that suggests life has no intrinsic meaning. If you were to ask an Absurdist: “What’s the meaning of life?” they would simply reply: “There isn’t one.” It was pioneered by Danish philosopher Søren Kierkegaard, who said:

As the reality of God is beyond human comprehension, it is absurd for humans to have faith in God.

The point is that if there’s no guaranteed meaning to life, you’re free to make your own. If there’s no meaning, then there’s nothing to worry about, and therefore, you do not need to be stressed about anything. Whether or not Bob was conscious of Absurdism at that time is something I cannot say. Regardless, the ideas of Absurdism aligned with what he was saying.

It was during my research that I discovered the French author Albert Camus, who had taken the concept of Absurdism and ran with it. Each of his works focuses on Absurdism, with him all but becoming the “face” of the philosophy. So much so that if you google “Absurdism”, you’ll see countless quotes from, and pictures of, Camus.

Camus argues that there are three paths we can take in life when greeted with the crushing reality that nothing means anything. He says we can…

• Commit suicide: either literally or philosophically, the latter meaning to embrace Nihilism.

• Take a leap of faith: to find meaning in a religion by suspending belief and simply accepting what the Good Book(s) tell us.

• Revolt: to continue to live, create, love, have fun, and act in the world despite knowing there’s no inherent meaning, which is sometimes referred to as defiant participation.

After a bit more research on the subject, I bought myself a copy of The Stranger, the first novel published by Albert Camus.

In the novel, the protagonist Meursault (among other things) learns of the death of his mother. Having taken time off work to go to the funeral, he displays no signs of grief, which concerns those around him. In addition, his girlfriend asks if he would like to get married, but he has no strong feelings either way, showing the same indifference to this as he did to the death of his mother.

One thing leads to another, and Meursault finds himself in prison after shooting a man on a beach – I’m skipping over a fair bit there, but that’s the crux of it. The first shot was fatal, but Meursault fires another four times. Once in prison, Meursault’s disinterested worldview leads him to find his incarceration perfectly tolerable.

And we know that if nothing matters (as is Meursault’s view of the world), being in prison also does not matter.

After reading The Stranger, things became worse for me.

Struggling to Find Meaning

Meursault’s complete indifference to everything going on around him really resonated with me. In fact, it was – and still is – one of the only times I’ve ever felt complete agreement with a book. People always describe being “seen” by something they read; I didn’t know what that meant until The Stranger.

Usually, I’ll finish reading and think, that was good, and then move on to the next book. But instead, after finishing The Stranger, I thought: he gets it.

And herein lies the problem.

Since reading that book, I just cannot shake the feeling that nothing means anything (to steal a phrase from Bob), and that no matter what we do in life, no matter what we achieve, what we own, what we learn, write, read, friends we make, no matter… anything: none of it matters.

We could achieve huge success at work, but in sixty years (if we’re lucky), we’ll be dead, with the world having forgotten we existed. So, if you have success or if you don’t, does it matter either way?

By the same token, you could spend your life learning one subject, becoming an expert in your field, but at the end, what’s the point? So you can go out and get a job? Great, but what, then, is the point of a job?

This worldview that I’ve unwillingly adopted (thanks, Bob!) has permeated every aspect of my life, from things happening at work to things happening at home. A friend will ask if I want to watch a film, and I’ll think, sure, that’s fine. But yet I know that the outcome is the same if we do or if we don’t. The point isn’t that I don’t like my friends, I do. I love spending time with them, but I cannot shake the feeling that, ultimately, none of it matters.

For this same reason, I struggle with being interested in things. I’ll have a moment where I want to learn something, but then I’m struck with the thought that, if I learn it or if I don’t, it all has the same outcome. Ultimately, learning or not learning amounts to the same thing, so why bother?

The same is true for reading, too. I read a lot of books, with sixty-five of them being read in 2025. I’d consider reading my main hobby (the discussion of whether that’s because I actually like reading, or just want to inflate my yearly book count, is a question for another day), yet, if someone said to me, “You cannot read a single book ever again,” my thought would just be okay.

Complete indifference, it’s neither good nor bad. It just is.

I’ve been stuck with this for a long time, and have no clue how to shake it.

Stoicism and Absurdism Don’t Mix

At the core of Stoicism is the idea that we have very limited time on earth. The aphorism Memento Mori, meaning “remember you must die,” originates from Stoicism. With this in the background, Stoicism argues that you must do all you can to ensure you live each day virtuously. And living virtuously, in the Stoic sense, means: being disciplined, jovial to your fellow man, unaffected by external events, and actively working toward bettering yourself as a person.

Can you see where the disconnect comes from?

Despite the goal for each day to live virtuously, I have the constant feeling that none of this matters in the back of my head. It’s like a gremlin that’s always there, saying, “Yeah, by the way, buddy, even if you’re the best person you can possibly be today, it doesn’t matter.”

Stoicism teaches us to be indifferent to outcomes and unbothered by external events. In this sense, the problem that I have is a good one. If you’d ask any of my friends, I’m sure they’d tell you (often to their annoyance) that my resting state is one of being unbothered.

Some people are naturally passionate, some are angry, some are always happy. Me, I’m unbothered.

On the surface, that sounds fine, but it can also be hugely problematic.

For instance, if I’m asked for an opinion on something, more often than not, I simply won’t have one. Or if we’re in a restaurant and I get the wrong order, I’d say, “That’s fine, I can have this instead.” Or if we’re making plans for the weekend, I’d have no opinion: “We can do whatever you want.”

On the one hand, being unbothered by things is excellent. You’re not quick to get stressed, or worried, or upset, or angry, or any of the negative emotions we humans have to deal with.

But on the other hand, the same is true for positive emotions. I rarely, if at all, find myself excited, or overjoyed, or excited.

I just am.

How I’m Trying to Fix It

A while ago, a very good friend and I were speaking on the phone. She mentioned that she’d read something I’d written, and we had a chat about it.

Without meaning to be too dramatic, I was so happy during that conversation. The feeling that someone had not only read something I’d written but then went out of their way to speak to me about it, discussing the concepts, themes, and ideas, was… incredible. I loved it.

I’ve always struggled with looking back on things that have happened in my life and judging whether or not I was happy at the time. But when I think about the two of us discussing the silly little story I’d written, I can say – without a doubt – that I truly was happy.

And I think in that moment, on the phone, a new journey began. A journey in which I realised there was more to life than being unbothered by things. More to life than feeling nothing but a state of equanimity all the time.

The night that happened, I wrote about how good it made me feel and made the point, there and then, that I would take life into my own hands again. I would find and do things that I enjoyed. So, that’s what I’ve been doing.

There’s still the nagging feeling at the back of my mind that nothing means anything, and I honestly don’t think that’s going to go away any time soon. But despite this, I’ve been forcing myself to do things that I think I’ll enjoy.

Now, I regularly do things that I know I will enjoy. Now, I make plans to hang out with friends. Now, I write more things like this. All of these things I do because I’ve realised I enjoy doing them. I still have to force myself to do them; if I didn’t, I truly think I could pass the time sitting on the sofa doing literally nothing.

And still, the whole, this has no meaning thing is in the back of my head at all times, but I’m making a conscious effort to ignore it and do the things I enjoy regardless.

And perhaps that’s the secret to life: Spending time with the people you love and doing the things you enjoy.

Even if you can’t find meaning on a large scale, the little things truly do matter.