‘The Gods,” Albert Camus writes, “had condemned Sisyphus to ceaselessly rolling a rock to the top of a mountain, whence the stone would fall back of its own weight. They had thought with some reason that there is no more dreadful punishment than futile and hopeless labor.”
Your New Year’s resolution, which begins today, is your rock. Every day you will push it up the hill, only to watch it roll back down again. Some day soon, maybe a week from now or in mid-February, you will lace your sneakers for that new 2-mile daily run and your mind will go to work on you. “Why am I doing this? It’s cold out, and I hate running. My energy level hasn’t increased, and I haven’t lost a pound. It’s making me miserable, and I don’t want to do it anymore.”
And you won’t. You will abandon your rock and rejoice at being free of the weight. But the feeling won’t last because, as Camus says, “one always finds one’s burden again.” You will make other resolutions, on arbitrary dates throughout the year, in the never-ending pursuit of a better version of yourself. You will envision a thinner you, and the diet will begin. You will wake one morning with an indescribable emptiness and decide that a new hobby will fill the void. You will act unkindly toward someone you care about, and vow then and there to become a better person.
That is the absurdity of the human condition and the dark side of hope: Every breath is expelled in the pursuit of an imagined future. “I hope that denying myself chocolate makes me thinner, because then I will finally approve of me.” “I hope painting becomes my passion, because then I will be fulfilled.” “I hope that by doing good deeds, my life will have value.”
For their punishment to constitute torture, the Gods rely on the same kind of hope: “If I can just get this rock to the top of the mountain,” they want Sisyphus to whisper to himself, “then everything will be better.” Disappointment, they know, is inherent in the wish.
But the Gods underestimate him. Even amid this eternal and futile labor, Sisyphus finds joy in his burden, his fate. He becomes the “master of his days.”
“The struggle itself toward the heights,” Camus writes of Sisyphus, “is enough to fill a man’s heart.”
Torture isn’t pushing the rock, it’s pushing the rock toward a destination. So run not to be a runner, but to feel the cold air in your lungs and hear the whooshing sound of the world as you move through it. Paint not to be a painter, but because you love how the brush feels in your hand as it streaks color across a once-blank canvas. Be kind not to be a better person, but because it feels unnatural to be otherwise.
“One must imagine Sisyphus happy,” Camus says, and it’s sacred advice. To find joy in the doing is the best way to exist in the world.
Cameron is officially alive! The finale storyline goes through episode 7, and will apparently be angsty af. Jeff said we’re gonna need loads of tissues :(
Episode 4 introduces a new recurring girl role named Nina: a super geeky fangirl who works at a comic book store! She strikes up a “hot nerdy flirtation” with one member of the main cast (most likely Camille) and becomes their new love interest.
Some of the problems the team will face include: hacktivists leading them on a cyber chase, the NSA bearing down on the program, plane issues and more! There are a bunch of action scenes this season - the show pulled in a whole Krav Maga squad for filming when Camille starts learning self defense.
Liam’s still in the picture through the finale.
Small fetus Cameron will be coming back in Season 2, and so will an even younger version of Kirsten.
There was something fleeting and melancholy in the brief moment of dusk, perceptible not only to one man but also to a whole people. As for me, I longed to love as people long to cry. I felt that every hour I slept now would be an hour stolen from life … that is to say from those hours of undefined desire. I was tense and motionless, as I had been during those vibrant hours at the cabaret in Palma and at the cloister in San Francisco, powerless against this immense desire to hold the world between my hands.
I know that I am wrong, that we cannot give ourselves completely. Otherwise, we could not create. But there are no limits to loving, and what does it matter to me if I hold things badly if I can embrace everything?
Albert Camus, “Love of Life” - Lyrical and Critical Essays