I’ve known Sisyphus for a very long time. I met him at a point in my life in which nihilism was part of my day today. Nihilism was a security blanket; I wore it whenever I feared my life was headed in the wrong direction. I was so young and still so young, but think about how easy it could be for a 16-year-old to wave off her future because it wouldn’t matter in the long run anyway. Nihilism made my tears meaningless because how long could they last? Tears don’t stain, they dry clear. They could never stain the way blood, paint, or even grease can, but they have the power to make the ink on my paper bleed when they fall. Maybe that’s why I started typing out my reflections; maybe that’s why I made my journal digital. To avoid bleeding pages.
These were my worries. I began to fear meaninglessness because I believed that the pages world turn to paper the same way ashes turn to ashes and dust turns to dust.
Then I met Sisyphus.
I met Sisyphus in pages of a book I bought because I thought it would make me seem more brilliant. It's essential to see how people perceive him as a villain, a cheat, and a liar, but it is also easy to see him as a hero. People believe that Sisyphus’ existence is miserable. I mean, upon first glance, how could you not? Many people fail to see past the fact that Sisyphus will spend the rest of his life rolling a boulder up a hill just to watch it barrel town and be made to start over. People will never embrace Sisyphus’ plight in any way other than futile, a waste of time, a punishment worse than death. People will see Sisyphus and think about how one could live a life that is just an endless cycle of disappointment.
When I loved nihilism the way I now love Sisyphus, I didn’t care much for him. His plight was meaningless to me like the idea of life was. And then I stepped out of my shoes, out of his shoes, out of everyone’s shoes, and I walked a mile barefoot. I finally understood him; I could finally embrace him.
Albert Camus argued that Sisyphus’ existence isn’t inherently tragic. He wanted us, readers who are desperate for some philosophical validation, to understand that Sisyphus is just like us. He is a living, breathing, painful reminder of the human condition. He is a constant figure of the reality of humanity. Camas is a master of the absurd, which is something that many humans can’t recognize. We don’t have it in ourselves to walk barefoot rather than in someone else’s shoes. We don’t realize just how ridiculous we all are.
Sisyphus does.
Sisyphus knows how he looks to others, how absurd he must seem for pushing a boulder up a hill just to watch it come down. Sisyphus has a sense of self-awareness we could only dream of having. As much as I love living in delusion, reality is essential to the human condition. If we spend too long in our daydreams, they become us. Fantasies are meant to be an escape, not a state of being.
Sisyphus and nihilism don’t get along. I left nihilism for Sisyphus because Sisyphus is a hero if you can open up and understand him. He accepted his fate and made the most of it. If all you have is a hill and a boulder, push the boulder. Find joy when a mountain and a boulder are in front of you. He is an extreme case of life giving you lemons. Sisyphus is not meant to make you despair; you’re not supposed to see him as a tragedy. Sisyphus is intended to be a figure of resilience, of acceptance of humankind.
The real question that we ask is whether or not Sisyphus is happy. Just because he’s accepted his fate doesn’t mean that it’s what he originally wanted to do; I mean, just because life hands you lemons does not mean that we were planning on making lemonade in the first place. I choose to believe that he is happy. I think he has found a way to cope that brings him joy, gives him purpose, and makes him love his life as much as I admire him for living it.
When it comes to happiness, we choose our own path; someone will the cards in the deck and we decide how to play with the ones we’ve been handed. You could have four kings and still lose to four aces. A full house doesn't mean a happy one.
We’ll never know if Sisyphus is happy, but we can choose to believe he is, and as much as I mention, not living in delusions, lying to yourself about whether or not he’s happy doesn’t count as one.
There’s a thin line between delusions and dreams, and I like to dream bigger than I delude. I dream that Sisyphus has a smile on his face as the boulder rolls down the other side of the hill. I dream that he makes his way down merrily and takes time to watch the grass grow over the patches the boulder has bared. I dream he smirks as the grass and dandelions keep growing on the hill even after it’s been dozed over. I dream that he finds beauty in the fact the grass keeps growing even when it knows it will die the following day. I dream he also believes that some weeds are as pretty as flowers. I hope he stops and picks them.