Sisyphus

It’s hard to believe we’re already almost two months into 2019. So far, 2019 has been busy, challenging, stressful, and, at times, a little painful. Lately it seems I am alone in a ballroom of chaos, searching for peace amidst the insanity. Every once in a while she emerges from the crowd to waltz with me for a short time, and in these moments the chaos fades into nothing and I relish in what it is to be alive. Before long, however, the song ends, the dance is over, the chaos ensues around me and I am lost and alone once again.

There is a particular Greek myth that tells the story of Sisyphus, a mortal king who — long story short and as per most Greek myths — pissed off the gods and was condemned to the underworld to push a rock up a mountain only to let it fall back down, over and over again for eternity.

We can liken the human condition itself to that of Sisyphus. We push the rock up the mountain, over and over and over again, only to watch it fall back down, over and over and over again. And we can’t help but wonder: what is the point? Where is the meaning? Why do we keep pushing the rock?

And yet we do it all the same.

One of my favorite philosophers, Albert Camus, wrote a long, philosophical essay titled The Myth of Sisyphus. It is a commentary on the inherent meaningless of existence, and whether life is or is not worth living because of this. Camus beautifully encourages us to endure in spite of it. We are like Sisyphus, he says, but we must cope as best we can.

We must imagine Sisyphus happy.

Lately it feels as though I am at the bottom of my mountain. My rock has rolled from the top, and as I chased it down it bowled over me and together we sit in wait of the cycle to start again.

I told my mom last weekend I felt like I was standing on a rock in the middle of an open, empty ocean. For 360 degrees, I could see nothing beyond the horizon. Nothing to see, nowhere to go, no way to get there if there was. She told me that perhaps I needed to look down at the little fishes swimming by my rock every once in a while instead of out at the horizon. It’s a beautiful image, isn’t it?

Similarly, as we push our rock up our mountain, we need to remember to admire the flowers as we go. Let us not forget that they are there with us. Let us not forget about the warmth of the sun, the song of the birds, or the other people pushing their rocks up the mountain, too.

Wherever you are in the cycle — whether that’s pushing the rock up, watching it roll back down, sitting at the top and enjoying the view, or finding the strength to start all over again from the bottom — I hope you see the flowers.