Sisyphus Excuse

Reflections on Retirement, Focus, and the Absurd Beauty of Purpose

I’ve been improving a lot when it comes to placing real value on my days in retirement. One of my ongoing goals is to reduce exposure to stimuli that chip away at my attention span—those short bursts of information that flood in from every direction, pulling the mind into overdrive. Much of this information, though designed to titillate, contributes little to my well-being. Instead, it forms habits engineered by the architects of social media—habits that quietly turn people into automatons, reacting rather than choosing. A billionaire is even trying to embed chips into our brains. We live in strange times.

I consider myself lucky. My youth unfolded in an era untouched by platforms, apps, and algorithmic distractions. While I don’t claim these technologies are entirely useless—they’ve given me tools for learning and expression—they’re only useful up to a certain point. They’ve allowed me to explore creativity in writing and digital content, areas that now bring me profound joy. AI, for example, has become an invaluable companion in refining my writing—saving me the hours or fees I would’ve incurred for professional editing. Creativity, more than productivity, is what I now seek. It brings me into a zone of deep focus, a quiet joy. Writing—especially as a form of meditation—has become one of my most grounding rituals.

What I resist is the mindless reflex to scroll, click, and drift into a virtual void. That pattern dilutes my presence in the real world, giving the illusion of activity but leaving me empty, like binge-watching meaningless television. Some may find satisfaction in that habit of mindlessness. I don’t. It feels like a betrayal of intention—like a painter who sets out to create but spends the whole day staring out the window devoid of drive, motivation, and inspiration. I'm no painter, but that analogy rings true. Distraction grieves the artist in me.

I’m making progress, though. I’ve started limiting distractions and replacing them with more mindful habits. Mindfulness, after all, cannot thrive on noise or overstimulation. So I turn off the television. I turn my sight away from impulsive smartphone checks. When I catch myself wasting time, I pivot—sometimes toward something creative, sometimes toward something simple and nourishing. Writing meditation is one such substitute. Learning new digital tools is another. I’ve recently found joy in setting up a new domain to replace an old one—something small but satisfying, something alive. It made me feel capable, curious again.

I know my work may not reach many people. The long, stream-of-consciousness essays I write aren’t popular in a world bent on bite-sized, algorithm-approved content. My digital projects are niche, and probably better handled by tech-savvy minds. Still, I insist on doing them. Not because they have commercial value or viral potential—but because they bring me 'zone' and 'flow'. That’s what I’m after in this chapter of life.

I think of it like this: a man climbs a mountain each day, carrying water from the river below to his garden at the summit. People mock him. "Why not plant your garden at the base of the mountain?” they ask. But at the end of his life, the man might say: “I enjoyed every step of that climb. I forgot my troubles and felt strong. I cleared my mind. And oh—the view.” That, to me, is enough.

To some, my way of life now might seem absurd. “Why waste time on things that have no value to the world?” they ask. But what is value, really? If I planted my garden where the river flows, I might have more free time—but that time would only be filled with more restlessness, more searching for the next distraction. And I am done chasing distractions. I’d rather climb, carry water, feel the sweat, enjoy the view, and tend to the garden of my mind.

Politics, business, entertainment—they all repeat themselves in cycles, much like fashion or film. A new actor in the same script. A new designer remixing the old silhouette. A new politician rehearsing familiar lines. The only real change is the face playing the role. So what if my own cycle is eccentric or unproductive by worldly standards?

In truth, life is absurd. But that absurdity dances with the Law of Nature. And the engine behind that law isn’t reason, or randomness, or even reality—it’s God. That’s what I believe.

I am merely a grain of sand, a wave that breaks and disappears, a hibiscus flower that blooms and withers in a single day. I am a bee that dies after pollinating, a leaf that lets go. That is what I am in the true scheme of things.

And that—honestly—is enough.
2025-04-23 11:15:57
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