Absurdity cracks the foundation on which we stand; angst is the burden to fill the crack.
Summary: This essay explores the quiet intrusion of absurdity into everyday life and its emotional counterpart, existential angst. It traces how these experiences prompt a profound human response: an urge for creation of meaning.
Sometime in the middle of going through the motions of living — perhaps while brushing teeth and looking at our face in the mirror or lying awake in the wee hours of morning thinking about the day ahead — there comes an awkward moment. A pause. A quiet rupture in the random meanderings of our ever-shifting mind. The thought arises, unbidden yet disturbing: This all feels so absurd.
It is not a dramatic revelation, nor a philosophical awakening. It is quieter than that. It is a whisper in the mind. The absurd does not announce itself with grandeur; it creeps in through the cracks in the routine; through the repetition of days that feel both full and yet hollow (or shall we say, absurd). Getting out of bed suddenly becomes a Sisyphean struggle — not because the body is weary, but because the spirit questions the very point of the climb.
Absurdity, in its essence, is a rupture, a dissonance between what we expect and what reality offers. We expect coherence. We long for a narrative, a purpose that threads through our days. We want our lives to matter, not just to ourselves but to something larger, something cosmic. Yet the universe, vast and indifferent, offers none. It spins on, unbothered by our yearnings.
If there were a designer, and if that designer had a teleological blueprint for the cosmos, we might gladly align our lives with that trajectory. We would shape our days to serve that purpose, and to contribute to the grand design. But in the absence of such a design, we are left to navigate on our own. The stone we push uphill each day does not roll back because of failure; it rolls back because when we arrive at the summit, there is nothing waiting there. Discouraged, we let the stone go.
And so, the absurd settles in.
From Absurdity to Existential Angst
The recognition of our absurd predicament gives rise to existential angst.
Absurdity and existential angst are distinct yet intimately connected facets of the human condition. Absurdity is an outcome of a structural dissonance. It is not an emotional state but a philosophical recognition of a rupture between expectation and reality.
Existential angst is the emotional response to absurdity. It is not a fear tethered to any specific threat, but a diffuse and silent dread — an unease that arises when we confront the burden of choice, the imperative to act, and the necessity of self-definition in a world devoid of predetermined meaning. Angst is the psychological weight of autonomy: the discomfort that surfaces when we wonder whether we are truly up to the task of shaping our life without guidance or a manual. It is starting a journey unaccompanied by a map. [Angst: A feeling of deep anxiety or dread, typically an unfocused one about human condition or the state of the world in general.]
The connection between the two is often sequential. Absurdity is the recognition of meaninglessness first; angst that follows is the emotional consequence of having to create meaning ourselves. Absurdity cracks the foundation; angst is the burden to fill the crack and but not knowing if we are up for the task.
The Consequence: A Call to Create
The most profound consequence of absurdity, followed by existential angst, is not paralysis, but an urge to create meaning and purpose. When the universe offers no inherent purpose, we are left with the task — and the freedom — of crafting our own.
Why are we driven to create meaning? It is not merely a challenge for its own sake. The act of meaning-making is profoundly practical. Meaning and purpose serve as the scaffolding of daily life — they orient our actions, animate our routines, and transmute drudgery into rituals of comfort. In their presence, even the mundane could acquire dignity.
To have purpose is to know why we rise in the morning. It is to put a spring in our step. It is what turns effort into engagement, and repetition into a ritual. Purpose does not eliminate absurdity, but it offers a response and a way to live with it.
Meaning also offers resilience. In the face of suffering, uncertainty, and loss, if they were to occur (which they do), it provides a compass. It allows us to endure because we are anchored to something.
Other Gifts of Meaning
Beyond guiding action and lifting the spirit, meaning offers other gifts:
Meaning is necessary for a joyful life. Without it, life becomes a series of disconnected events. With it, life becomes a story.
Human Response to Absurdity
And thus, absurdity is not a flaw but a feature of the human condition. In response to dissonance, humanity has devised several ways to cope, one being the act of creating meaning and purpose through our own efforts. But this is only one pathway. It would be instructive to explore the other responses humanity has fashioned — some defiant, some consoling — as we continue our inquiry into how we live with the absurd. That exploration begins next.
Ciao, and thanks for reading.
I finally got promoted… and now I spend my days approving timesheets and troubleshooting printer errors. It is so absurd.
Summary: This essay discusses the notions of absurdity and existential angst in plain terms, using examples drawn from everyday happenings of life. The premise is that the ideas of absurdity and angst are not confined to ivory towers — we confront them in daily happenings of our life. Examples drawn from there clarify their loftier meanings.
Here is a familiar scenario: you are weaving through the routines of daily life, anchored in a career, fully immersed in the cut-throat office politics and pressures of work. From the outside, everything appears in order. You have what many strive for — stability, status, purpose. And yet, each morning feels less like a fresh beginning and more like a reluctant march into the Colosseum, bracing for another day of battles. Somewhere deep inside, a quiet voice whispers: Something does not add up.
In those moments, the absurdity of your situation begins to surface. You possess what others might envy, yet the feeling of fulfillment remains elusive. You have heard you are not alone in this dissonance. Names like Sartre, Camus, and Kierkegaard come to mind — thinkers who have wrestled with related questions and written extensively about the human experience of absurdity, and existential angst.
Encouraged, you search online and order well-known titles: The Myth of Sisyphus, perhaps Being and Nothingness, or Fear and Trembling. You sit down, eager to glean insight from their pages, hoping to decode your own predicament through their lens. But five pages in, your eyes glaze over. The language is dense, the concepts elusive. You try again, and again — but the clarity you seek remains out of reach.
And so, you continue on, baffled but still searching. This essay aims to bridge that gap — to explain the notions of absurdity and existential angst in plain terms, using examples drawn from the everyday moments of life. The premise is that the ideas of absurdity and angst are not confined to ivory towers — we confront them in daily happenings of our life.
Defining the Terrain: Absurdity and Angst
Let us start with some basic definitions. According to Merriam-Webster, a definition of absurdity is “having no rational or orderly relationship to human life.” Angst, meanwhile, is defined as “a feeling of anxiety, apprehension, or insecurity.”
Absurdity is a visceral experience that arises when reality clashes with our expectations in ways that feel ridiculous, contradictory, or surreal. It is the moment when the script of life veers off course, and we are left blinking at the gap between what we wish it to be and what it hands to us.
Angst, by contrast, is the emotional unease that surfaces when we confront the possibility that the task that lies ahead may exceed our capacity to meet it. It is the tension of striving toward a milestone while knowing we lack the tools, time, or clarity to reach it. Imagine the recurring dream: you are rushing to catch a train for an important journey, but obstacles keep appearing — wrong turns, missing tickets, locked doors — while the clock ticks relentlessly. That is angst.
Examples of Absurdities from Everyday Life
Absurdity often announces itself in mundane moments:
In each of these instances, your urge is to mutter, This is absurd. In doing so, what you really notice is a contradiction — gap between what you expect and what reality delivers. These cracks in the wall of normalcy are where absurdity thrives.
Examples of Angst from Everyday Life
Now consider this: You wake up on a Saturday with no plans. You could read, walk, visit a museum, write in your journal. But instead of feeling liberated, you feel paralyzed. The sheer openness of the day makes you question what you should be doing. That is angst.
Or this: You have achieved a goal you worked toward for years — graduation, a promotion, retirement, publication of a research paper. But instead of feeling fulfilled, you feel… adrift. The goal is behind you, and now you are staring into the open sea of “what next?” That is angst too.
Angst is not fear of something specific; it is a diffuse unease, a sense that something is missing, but you are not sure what.
Angst is what follows when we sit with absurdity long enough. It is the emotional counterpart of realizing that meaning of your life, your existence is not given, and thus, you must make it. It is the paralysis of freedom that what we should choose that would actually turn out to be meaningful. What choices would make us get out of bed in anticipation and enthusiasm and not with a sense of dread.
Which Comes First: Absurdity or Angst?
In most cases, absurdity comes first. It is the spark. It is the moment when something does not add up. We notice the mismatch, the contradiction, a joke which is not funny. And then, if we sit with that moment long enough, an urge to find a solution comes, and if one is not readily available, then angst follows.
Absurdity says, This does not make sense. Angst responds, I want to set things straight, but I am not up for the task.
Absurdity is the crack in the wall. Angst is what we feel when we reach to mend it, only to find that the tools we have are clumsy, imprecise, too thick to fit the fracture. We want to restore coherence, but the gap resists repair. Or even if it gets repaired, cracks open over and over again.
Examples of Absurdity-Angst Pair
Graduation
Imagine a student who has spent four years immersed in study — sleepless nights, endless exams, and the emotional rollercoaster of striving toward a degree. Graduation day arrives. The ceremony is elaborate: speeches, gowns, applause. The student walks across the stage, receives the diploma, and poses for photos. It is a moment that is supposed to feel triumphant.
But later that evening, sitting alone in their apartment, the student feels strangely hollow. The question creeps in: Now what?
The Retirement Send-Off
After decades of work, the day finally arrives: your retirement party. The conference room is decorated with balloons and banners. Colleagues gather, speeches are made, a cake is cut. You are praised for your dedication, your legacy, your years of service. There’s laughter, maybe a few tears, and the ceremonial handing over of a plaque or gift card. It is meant to be a celebration moment of closure and honor.
But later that evening, at home, the silence feels unfamiliar. You wake up the next morning with no meetings, no emails, no deadlines. The calendar is blank. You have gained time, but lost structure. You sit with your coffee and wonder: What now?
The Absurdity of Human Condition
With those examples from daily life, let us move to the absurdity of human condition.
At its core, absurdity of human condition arises from a fundamental contradiction: humans yearn for meaning, coherence, and purpose in a universe that offers none by default. We seek a narrative arc for our lives — a story that makes sense, which justifies our suffering. But the world, indifferent and chaotic, rarely obliges.
Albert Camus, in The Myth of Sisyphus, describes the absurd as the confrontation between our desire for clarity and the silent, indifferent universe. Sisyphus, condemned to roll a boulder uphill only for it to roll back down, becomes a metaphor for human existence. We work, strive, love, and suffer — only to repeat the cycle again and again
The Angst That Follows
Now that we have glimpsed the absurdity of the human condition, the notions begin to sharpen. We are born, we live for a fleeting moment — barely a blink on the cosmic timescale — and then we die. Between birth and death, we perform a choreography of routines: waking, working, eating, sleeping. These motions repeat endlessly. Against the vast silence of the universe, our daily rituals, on reflection, can feel strangely theatrical, even hollow, and absurd.
In response to this dissonance, we reach for meaning to anchor ourselves. We try to stitch purpose into the fabric of our lives, to mend the tear in space-time. But meaning is not handed to us. There is no cosmic narrator offering a script. We must create it ourselves. And therein lies the catch — the emotional burden of authorship. The angst we feel arises from realization that we are responsible for defining the significance of our own existence.
We call it existential angst because it touches the very core of our existence.
And so, we arrive at the absurdity and angst pair.
Together, they form signature duo of human life. Absurdity cracks the surface of our assumptions, angst seeps in through the fracture. One reveals the void; the other compels us to fill it.
Ciao, and thanks for reading.
The absurd is born of this confrontation between the human need and the unreasonable silence of the world. — Albert Camus
Summary: This essay explores the origins of absurdity as a feeling born from the dissonance between our longing for meaning and the universe’s apparent indifference. It examines two conceptual paths: one that posits a cosmos imbued with inherent meaning, and another that portrays a universe governed by physical laws — unfolding through inevitable consequences, yet devoid of purpose or predetermined destiny. For those inclined toward the latter view, the predicament of finite existence becomes fertile ground for the emergence of absurdity.Prelude to Absurdity
“Absurdity,” as defined by the Oxford English Dictionary, refers to that which stands “against or without reason or propriety; incongruous, unreasonable, illogical.” Merriam-Webster adds a more existential nuance: “having no rational or orderly relationship to human life.”
Across contexts, definitions of absurdity converge on a rupture between expectation and reality, between our longing for order and the chaos that greets us, between the desire for certainty and the randomness we constantly face. Absurdity is not a matter of merely being silly or nonsensical in our interactions with others. Rather, the defining thread is dissonance: what we hope for and what we receive remains stubbornly misaligned.
In this series of essays, we speak of absurdity in its existential sense — a deeper dissonance that shadows life’s mismatch between our longing for meaning and the universe’s indifference to that longing.
We feel absurdity not merely because the world is illogical, is full of suffering, or is contradictory, nor simply because things fail to make sense. We also feel it because the universe is silent — silent to our pleas for purpose, for coherence, for giving us a story that threads the days of a week, a month, a year into something whole. We yearn for a narrative with a beginning, an end, and something meaningful in between. A narrative that gives us reason and urges us to rise again tomorrow.
Cosmic Silence and Human Perception
We look around and witness the vast expanses of space and time. We gaze at the twinkling stars scattered across the night sky; we marvel at images of galaxies swirling in cosmic dance, captured by telescopes that peer deep into the fabric of the universe. We learn of the cosmic microwave background radiation, a faint echo from the Big Bang, still humming through the void. The sheer scale of space and time, and our apparent insignificance within it, can stir a quiet, unsettling feeling.
For me, that feeling also surfaces at strange moments like while standing on the cliff at Point Udall in St. Croix, the easternmost edge of U.S. territory, watching the ocean stretch endlessly toward the horizon. The waves crash, recede, and return, indifferent to my presence. Lost in the vastness of blue sky above and the turquoise ocean below, I find myself wondering: What is all this for?
The question is not new. It has echoed across centuries and through cultures. It has been whispered in monasteries, temples, and mosques. It has stirred in the minds of philosophers and in the quiet reflections of thinkers seeking to understand the workings of the cosmos. It is a question that has persisted and refuses to be silent or find a resolve.
Faith or Physics?
The sense of absurdity in our relationship with the universe begins with a fundamental question: does the universe possess inherent meaning to begin with? There are two possible answers to this question — yes, or no.
One path, affirming that the universe holds meaning, also implies the presence of agency — a designer, a higher power, and a guiding force. This view offers comfort: that there is, indeed, a plan, even if it remains hidden from us. That our existence is not senseless but woven into a larger story. That our lives are not fleeting sparks in the void, but chapters in a divine narrative, and within that grand arc, each of us carries a narrative of our own.
This path, however, requires a leap of faith. The agency it invokes cannot be verified through empirical means, and it must contend with difficult questions — questions such as…
- Why is there so much suffering?
- Why do the innocents perish and the wicked prosper?
- Is this agency benevolent, or indifferent?
- Are we participants in a cosmic drama — or pawns in a game we do not quite understand?
The other path contends that the universe requires no designer and harbors no inherent meaning. Moreover, this alternative has ample empirical support. From the Big Bang onward, a cascade of inevitabilities — triggered by random fluctuations — can account for the formation of galaxies, stars, and planets; the emergence of self-replicating molecules; the rise of natural selection; and, eventually, the appearance of conscious beings like us. In this view, the cosmos has no story. It follows no teleological arc. Its trajectory is not predetermined. At any moment, it could veer in countless directions, and among those, one path is selected based on contingencies of the present moment.
This path offers a simpler answer. It sidesteps theological thickets and avoids the burden of metaphysical justification. Suffering, in this view, is not a moral riddle but a natural occurrence — part of the fabric of existence. The cost, however, is steep: it strips the universe of inherent meaning and purpose. What remains is a cosmos that is vast, beautiful, and yet, profoundly indifferent.
The Birth of the Absurd
And so, we arrive at the threshold of the birth of absurdity.
In a universe devoid of innate meaning, we are born. We live. We love. We create and procreate. We suffer. We cycle through the rituals of daily life. We construct an identity, only to watch it dissolve in retirement. And then — and then we die. The stars remain. The ocean continues. Everything carries on, except that after our death, there will no longer be a “us” to know we ever existed.
In the end, if one is not persuaded by faith in a divine agency guiding the universe toward a teleological end, but instead finds the evidence for a cosmos without inherent meaning more compelling, then our brief, finite existence within an indifferent universe begins to feel absurd. Against this backdrop, to rise each morning with anticipation rather than a Sisyphean dread requires deliberate strategies — acts of meaning-making in defiance of silence.
And so, the search begins: for purpose, for coherence, for a way to live meaningfully in a universe that offers none by default.
Toward the Next Question
The sense of absurdity — arising from the dissonance between our lives unfolding, perhaps with rhythm and intention, and a universe that remains indifferent — inevitably gives rise to existential angst. It becomes a fitting next step in this exploration: to ask what practical consequences emerge when we confront the silence, and how we respond to the void it reveals.
Ciao, and thanks for reading.
Retirement, far from being a slow drift, is a series of quick pivots.
Summary: These thoughts explore the role of pivoting — on the pickleball court and in retirement — as a metaphor for graceful adaptation. It emphasizes how retirement needs to navigate rapid transitions, loss, and evolving identity by cultivating readiness, presence, and meaningful engagement, allowing retirees to pivot with intention when facing changes.
The sun hangs low over the pickleball court, casting long shadows that stretch across the painted lines. A soft thwack echoes — plastic against paddle — as the rally unfolds. At the kitchen line, two players hold their ground, knees bent, eyes sharp. Then, with a flick of the wrist, one sends a sharp crosscourt dink, low and curling. The opponent hesitates for a breath, then pivots with practiced ease. A subtle shift of weight, a rotation of hips, and the paddle meets the ball in perfect timing. In here, points are won not by power, but by the art of pivoting.
As I walk back home through the winding paths of our retirement community, it is not the score that lingers, but the image of that pivot. A moment of quiet reorientation. A decision made in motion. On the court, pivoting is a matter of biomechanics — a coordinated rotation of the body, often initiated from the feet and hips, allowing a player to adjust position without losing balance or overextending. It is the art of staying grounded while changing direction. And surprisingly, that same notion of graceful pivoting carries into life, especially into life during retirement.
Before getting there, we often imagine retirement as a plateau — a long-awaited arrival at a place of rest, predictability, and ease of routine. But once you are retired, you begin to realize that, like pickleball, retirement is not a static state but a changing terrain. The path is not as linear as we once imagined. It bends and twists, sometimes sharp and abrupt, and just as on the court, we must learn to pivot not just physically, but emotionally, socially, and spiritually.
These days, if we are lucky, and if we are proactive in assisting luck with actions to improve our healthspan, we can hope to be around for another 30+ years in retirement. That is a long time. It is about as long as our career was. But it is not just the length that matters — the real surprise may be the pace.
A peculiarity of retirement, and contrary to expectations, is the rapidity of transitions that happen. In many ways, retirement compresses the first sixty years of life into a 15–20-year span, or less. The changes come faster. The chapters turn more quickly.
The reasons are many. Health becomes fragile, and recovery takes longer. A sprained ankle, a fall on the pickleball court, can sideline us for weeks or months, if not forever. And even if no mishap occurs, the erosion of agility will eventually urge us to step back from many activities.
There are other kind of transitions, too. The passing of a spouse or close friends. The end of traveling days, not because the desire fades, but because the logistics of organization become daunting or when knees begin to whisper their limits, and long walks become shorter forays.
Some changes are gradual and foreseen, others jarring. But what unites them is their frequency. Retirement, far from being a slow drift, is a series of quick changes requiring appropriate pivots. And each pivot needs a willingness to reorient, to let go, to begin again.
In retirement, the ability to pivot is absolutely essential to stay on the top of the game. It is the skill that allows us to respond to loss with ingenuity, to meet limitations with creativity. When one activity fades, something else must rise to fill the space and time. The end of travel for weeks across the world might open space for local exploration. The loss of a partner might lead to deeper friendships or solitary reflection. When one door closes, another must be ready to be opened.
This is not always easy. Pivoting requires intentional preparation.
And so, in retirement, we must be prepared and ready to pivot. We must cultivate a portfolio of activities, interests, and relationships. Not as distractions, but as meaningful engagements. Reading groups, nature walks, community service, writing, stargazing, mentoring, learning a new skill, each becomes a meaningful direction to pivot toward. Equally important is the psychological readiness to pivot — to recognize the impermanence of any one role or activity, which is often a mirage — and to meet each loss not with lament, but with a quiet turning toward what lies ahead.
The player who won the point today did not overpower his opponent. He simply pivoted. He adjusted. He responded. And in doing so, he stayed on top of his game.
So too in retirement. The terrain will change and can change expectedly. But if we learn to pivot, we can continue to play — not the same game but a different one shaped by grace, presence, and the quiet joy of adaptation.
Epilogue: Cultivating Readiness to Pivot
To pivot gracefully in retirement is not merely to react, it is to prepare before it happens. It begins with cultivating a mindset of openness, where change is not feared but anticipated and something inevitable. We build this readiness through small, intentional acts: diversifying our interests, nurturing relationships across generations, tending to our physical and emotional health, and staying curious about the world beyond our sand box.
We can learn to scan the horizon without clinging to any one role. To be pivot-ready is to live with quiet flexibility. It is to know that while the game may change, our capacity to engage meaningfully endures.
Ciao, and thanks for reading.
Behavior is reinforced not by certainty but by probabilistic anticipation, which makes it even more compelling.
Summary: This essay explores how dopamine-driven feedback loops shape our behavior, using LinkedIn engagement as an example. It explains why unpredictable rewards reinforce habits, how cues trigger motivation, and why uncertainty of outcomes fuels compulsive checking. The piece reveals the neurological underpinnings of attention fragmentation in the age of social media.
Dopamine in Action
Last week I posted an article about how simple cues distract me from what I am or should be doing. The contextual example was related to posting an article on LinkedIn. Subsequent to doing that, amid various ongoing activities and obligations, I observed a recurring pattern of behavior. At unpredictable intervals, often in the middle of some unrelated activity, a spontaneous thought crossed the mind: “Perhaps someone has liked or commented on the post.” This simple anticipation acted as a cue, prompting me to suspend whatever task I was engaged in and open Firefox, navigate to LinkedIn, and scrutinize the latest stats.
As for the outcome, occasionally, I would encounter a gratifying spike in likes or engagement; at other times, the dashboard remained static. In other words, it was the unpredictability of the outcome that acted as a driver. The momentary act of checking disrupted attention and fractured the continuity of work. When this pattern repeats multiple times across a single day the cumulative effect is a diffuse sense of unproductivity. The day becomes a mosaic of half-finished efforts and disjointed focus. Before heading for bed, I find it difficult to summarize what I have truly accomplished. Days like that are cognitively scattered and emotionally unsatisfying.
While this experience might appear anecdotal, it reveals a deep truth about human behavior and our neural underpinnings. At the heart of this seemingly innocuous cycle lies a powerful neurotransmitter: dopamine.
The Feedback Loop of Anticipation and Reward
This behavioral loop — cue → anticipation → action → unpredictable reward → repetition — is emblematic of a dopamine-mediated feedback system. Each time I check LinkedIn and find a favorable result, such as a new like, a small jolt of pleasure accompanies the discovery. This jolt of pleasure reflects a real change in neurochemical activity within the brain. The experience becomes associated with the behavior that preceded it (the cue), reinforcing the tendency to follow the cue with an action in hopes for a reward a jolt of pleasure.
Conversely, when I check the same platforms multiple times with no new positive feedback, the reinforcement is absent. Gradually, the behavior extinguishes — or at least recedes — until a new LinkedIn post reignites the cue. This is an example of variable reinforcement (be deliberately unpredictive in the outcome), a principle well-known in behavioral psychology and one that underpins many addictive or compulsive behaviors, from gambling to doom scrolling.
What Does Dopamine Do?
Dopamine’s fundamental function is in the realm of wanting rather than liking. Dopamine does not directly cause pleasure; rather, it increases the prominence of certain stimuli, rendering them more attractive and worth pursuing.
The Pathway of Desire: From Cue to Action
The journey from a fleeting cue — such as the thought “maybe there’s a like on my post” — to a full-fledged behavioral response is orchestrated by a complex neural circuits. It begins in the ventral tegmental area (VTA) of the midbrain, where dopamine neurons are activated by reward-predicting cues. These neurons then project outwards to several key regions that translate motivation into action.
This system is highly adaptive and plastic. Each time a cue leads to a reward, the dopaminergic synapses are strengthened. The brain essentially “learns” that the cue is worth responding to. This is why even the mere possibility of positive feedback can be enough to trigger the action. Behavior is reinforced not by certainty but by probabilistic anticipation, which, paradoxically, makes it even more compelling. If the outcome is a certainty, the thrill for anticipation would not be there.
The Behavioral Contradiction of Uncertainty
Human behavior is shaped by a paradox: we’re drawn to unpredictability even as we recoil from it. Neurologically, the brain’s dopamine system responds more intensely to uncertain rewards than to guaranteed ones. This probabilistic anticipation fuels motivation, especially in environments where outcomes remain partially obscured. It’s evolution’s way of nudging us forward — encouraging exploration in a world where uncertainty is the rule, not the exception.
Yet at the same time, our cognitive systems crave control. The discomfort of uncertainty triggers emotional and psychological stress, driven by our need to manage risk and maintain a sense of agency. The result is a built-in tension — our motivational engines chase what is uncertain, while our rational minds try to tame it. These systems do not always agree. We may feel anxious about uncertainty yet still act compulsively in response to it (because the motivational engine fires faster than the rational brakes). This duality powers both innovation and anxiety, creation and caution. It’s not a flaw, but a feature — a balancing act that underlies much of human striving.
Epilogue
Uncertainty is the fabric of life, and dopamine is the thread that draws us toward it. Yet paradoxically, uncertainty is something we resist. We crave predictability and work tirelessly to minimize the unknown — why else do practices like astrology and tea-leaf reading persist? So what gives rise to this tension? That question will be worth exploring.
Ciao, and thanks for reading.
Dopamine is not about satisfaction; it is about creating the urge for pursuit
Summary: This article explores the invisible grip of dopamine-driven anticipation loops — why we compulsively check notifications, emails, and social feeds. Drawing from neuroscience and evolutionary psychology, it explains how our brains are wired for reward-seeking and how to reclaim attention by recognizing these patterns and consciously choosing to interrupt the cycle and help us in meaningful pursuits.
A week ago, I posted an article on LinkedIn. Since then, while engaged in other activities — working, reading, or even relaxing — my mind occasionally drifts back to that post. “Maybe someone has liked it,” I think. That simple thought cue is enough to pull me away from whatever I am doing. I open Firefox, go to LinkedIn, and check the stats. Sometimes there is a little surge of joy when someone liked, commented, or shared it. Other times, there is nothing new. But either way, I have broken my attention, paused my current task, and taken a short detour.
The same happens when I check my email more often than necessary, hoping to find a long-awaited response — maybe a paper review or an invitation to attend a conference (all expenses paid). I glance at Google Scholar to see if someone has cited my work. I scroll through the headlines on The New York Times, hoping to find some reassuring news during these bleak times.
These quick, almost automatic incidents take their toll. They scatter my attention. By day’s end, though I have been busy like a buzzing mosquito, it seems nothing truly meaningful got done. Some days, it is hard to even summarize what the day was about.
What is going on here is not just poor time management or lack of willpower. It is something deeper — something hardwired into how we humans are built. It is about the way our brains respond to anticipation, reward, and uncertainty. The primary component in this process is dopamine, a naturally occurring chemical in the brain. Dopamine promotes the motivation to seek out various stimuli, even prior to their attainment.
The Invisible Tug of Anticipation
Every time I think there might be a new like, my brain gives me a little nudge to go check. If there is something positive waiting for me, I feel good. Not only because someone appreciated my work, but because I anticipated correctly that something would be there. That positive feeling creates a loop. The next time the same thought crosses my mind, I am more likely to act on it.
Even when no new update is waiting for me, the very act of checking keeps the loop alive for a while. But if I keep checking and find nothing, eventually the habit weakens and fades. Then it starts again the next time I post something new.
This is how our minds are wired. We do not just enjoy getting rewards; we get excited by the possibility of rewards. It is this possibility that gets us hooked. And the more unpredictable the outcome, or more is the unexpected thrill of the reward, the more we feel drawn to it.
It is like playing a slot machine: you do not win every time, but the chance that you might win keeps you going.
Lessons from Mice and Pigeons
This pattern of behavior has been well documented in scientific research. Notably, psychologist B.F. Skinner conducted experiments in the 1950s where he placed rats and pigeons in operant conditioning chambers — now commonly called “Skinner boxes.” In these experiments, animals could press a lever or peck a key to receive a food reward. Skinner discovered that when rewards were dispensed unpredictably, on what is known as a “variable ratio schedule,” the animals pressed the lever much more frequently than when rewards were given consistently each time. The uncertainty of the reward made the behavior far more persistent and vigorous — a phenomenon now recognized as a key principle in habit formation and behavioral psychology.
Even more striking, in other experiments, mice would press a lever just to get a certain kind of brain stimulation, one that made them feel driven and alert — but not necessarily happy. They would press the lever again and again, even skipping food or sleep. The motivation was not about comfort or satisfaction. It was about wanting. About chasing. About being compelled to act, just in case something good might happen. This phenomenon was notably demonstrated in studies by Olds and Milner (1954), who discovered that electrical stimulation of certain brain regions in rats could create powerful motivation to press a lever, even at the expense of basic needs.
We humans are not so different.
How the Urge Takes Hold?
The cycle often starts with a simple thought — a little voice that says, “Maybe there’s something new.” That thought acts like a spark, a cue. It sets off a feeling of restlessness, an itch to check, to know, to confirm. If we follow through and something good is there, we feel rewarded. That experience gets stored in memory, and the loop becomes easier to trigger next time.
This is how habits form. They are not because we choose them consciously, but because our brains learn patterns of cue followed by a reward. The more often a cue leads to a satisfying outcome, the more strongly the cue becomes connected to the behavior that follows, leading to formation of habits.
Why We are Built This Way?
You might ask why nature would make us this way?
The answer lies in how humans, and animals, have survived through time and have evolved. In the wild, survival depended on action. Those who waited passively for food, shelter, or mates, did not do as well as those who went out and looked. The ones who felt compelled to explore, to chase after possibilities were more likely to survive and pass on their traits.
That is at the root of this restless energy we feel. It is not a flaw; it is an advantage that evolution handed us. But in today’s world, where many rewards are digital, fleeting, and designed to be addictive, the same ancient instincts are easily hijacked and repurposed. Instead of chasing real opportunities, we find ourselves chasing notifications, checking apps, refreshing pages not because they matter, but because the urge has been activated.
Collateral Damage
Each time I pause to check LinkedIn, I lose a little momentum from what I was doing. I might only spend 30 seconds, but those seconds break the thread of attention. It takes time and mental effort to return to the original task. Multiply that over a day, and it becomes clear why a day full of “little checks” can leave me feeling like I got nothing done.
The harm is not just lost time; it is also the feeling of being a scatter brain. The lack of depth. The absence of meaningful flow. I finish the day tired but not fulfilled.
Reclaiming Our Attention
So, what can I do? The first step is simple: notice the loop. Realize that the urge to check is not coming from necessity; it is coming from the way our brains are wired to chase possibilities. However, when this awareness comes, there is a small window of choice — to act or not to act on the urge. There is a saying often misattributed to Victor Frankel — Between stimulus and response there is a space. In that space is our power to choose our response. In our response lies our growth and our freedom.
The remedy is not about fighting our nature. It is about working with it, gently but intentionally. We are not trying to suppress the urge to seek. We are trying to direct it toward things that matter.
Dopamine may illuminate the path of pursuit, but I chose the action.
At the end of the day, what we should seek is not just a few extra likes or one more notification. What we should crave is the feeling that the day had meaning, that our efforts led somewhere. In this quest remembering a passage from the Hindu scripture Gita “it is actions [posting the blog] that we control but desiring specific results (likes) is out of our control.”
Ciao, and thanks for reading.
Meaning, even if self-fashioned, is a north star for our voyage through the cold empty space.
Summary: Life’s absurdity lies in our longing for meaning colliding with the universe’s indifference. While meaning is not inherent, to counteract, we can create personal frameworks through values, relationships, and purpose, as acts of our pushing back, granting orientation and resilience in a cosmos that offers none.
It is said that life is absurd.
Albert Camus, the French-Algerian philosopher wrote: “The absurd is born of this confrontation between the human need [for meaning] and the unreasonable silence of the world [in providing that meaning].” Søren Kierkegaard, long before Camus, called this tension “the sickness unto death” — a despair rooted in the self’s inability to reconcile its longing for “eternal” meaning with the silent void it confronts. Nietzsche stated: “He who has a why to live can bear almost any how,” perhaps implying that without a “why (i.e., the meaning),” the “how” (i.e., engagements of life) becomes unbearable.
You have probably felt this quiet dissonance yourself — perhaps while gazing at the night sky, where stars burn silently across incomprehensible distances, or standing atop a cliff watching the ocean stretch endlessly, turquoise in its beauty but indifferent to your existence.
In such moments, the significance of your existence flickers like a candle struggling to stay alight in a storm. In such moments, your existence feels naked, vulnerable, and exposed, stripped of the shelter that meaning of existence might have otherwise provided. You are here, undeniably present, and yet the world does not seem to notice or care. It neither welcomes nor rejects you. It is simply, well, indifferent.
This is the birthplace of the feeling of absurdity — you want to be noticed, but noticing you is the last thing on universe’s agenda.
Absurdity Defined
So, the notion of absurdity emerges from a collision between our hunger for a meaning for existence and the universe’s indifference to that existence. On one side stands the individual just wishing for a reason to get out of bed each morning. On the other, the cosmos: vast, silent, and governed by laws that do not give a hoot about whether you get out of bed or not.
Why in the first place, might we even think that the universe should offer us meaning or care about us? Meaning is not a property of matter or energy. It is not encoded in the spin of electrons or the curvature of spacetime. Meaning is a human construct, a comforting tale we want to tell ourselves to make sense of our place in the world. The stars do not speak. The oceans do not explain. The laws of physics do not comfort. They simply operate, indifferent to our yearning.
We are thrown into existence not by choice, but by the blind mechanics of biology and randomness. We are the outcome of evolutionary pressures, genetic mutations, survival strategies, and chance. We did not ask to be born, and yet here we are, thinking, feeling, hoping, and compelled to live.
This is the paradox and the crux of absurdity: we must live as if life holds purpose, even when we suspect it does not.
The Courage to Construct a Meaning
To live in the face of absurdity requires courage to stand up. It is not the courage of the heroic kind that slays dragons, but a simpler kind that gets us out of bed, make a coffee, and head to work. It is the courage to create meaning where none is offered. It is courage that made us stand up to a bully in our school days.
And so, to confront the absence of inherent meaning in life, we often craft our own — fragile, personal, and often, provisional. We create meaning by exploring what we value and then choosing actions that align with our values. That choice of creating meaning is our revolt, our push back, against absurdity. It is our freedom and strength to create a meaning. It is our agency through which to confront the absurd.
By choosing relationships, creative pursuits, or spiritual paths, we build scaffolding that allows us to stand upright in the face of cosmic indifference. Meaning, even if self-fashioned and intrinsically personal, offers us luxury of a coordinate system to orient ourselves. It is a north star for our voyage through the cold empty space. It is a way to navigate cosmic indifference without being consumed by it.
This courage to construct meaning is not to eliminate the absurd, for the feeling of absurd continues to exist. It is a stance, a posture, a way of being in the universe that does not care.
And so, the paradox is that we must live as if life matters, even when we suspect it does not. And in doing so, it helps to create a meaning but also be cognizant that meaning need not be absolute. All that matters if it is enough that it sustains us, even temporarily. And even if it is an illusory creation of our agency, it allows us to weather the Santa Ana winds of absurdity.
Epilogue
And so, life is absurd — and yet we must live it. In doing that, having meaning in life is a wonderful aid.
Not because meaning we create is permanent and will always make sense. Not because it offers guarantees. But because having it is like having the ability to slide into an exoskeleton giving us the strength to face the absurdity.
But the mind wonders — are there different approaches to finding that meaning? In the face of the absurd, can we choose to revolt, and stand, against it; can we choose the path of lucid acceptance, or can we carve a path of a fusion of two, i.e., a lucid embrace of life being absurd combined a defiant revolt.
Ciao, and thanks for reading.
We do not inherit the Earth from our ancestors; we borrow it from our children.” — Native American Proverb
Summary: A thought experiment places us at the midpoint of a 10,000-year timeline where all generations possess today’s technology. It challenges our moral decisions about environmental stewardship, and explores how psychological biases like moral licensing, temporal discounting, and social validation distort our responsibilities toward future generations.
Let us begin with a thought experiment, one that takes a longer view of humanity — longer than we are accustomed to, longer than our boxed imaginations are trained to stretch.
Imagine a 10,000-year timeline. Not a timeline of primitive tools gradually giving way to rockets, but a more unsettling proposition: at every point on this line, from year zero to year 10,000, humans existed with the same technological capabilities as we do now. Same machines. Same plastics. Same global transportation networks. Same capacity to extract, burn, pollute, clean, conserve, recycle, or destroy.
And here we are, you and I, placed squarely in the middle of this timeline. The year is five thousand. Five thousand years before us, a long unbroken chain of technologically adept ancestors made choices and left their mark on the world we inherited. Five thousand years ahead, a line of equally capable descendants awaits the footprints of choices we will leave behind.
Now here is the question — simple, elegant, and damning: do we want our ancestors to have made the same choices we are making now; and if not, then why are we making them?
Why should we expect moral wisdom from our ancestors while indulging in moral neglect towards our future generations? Although we may think so, however, we do not hold a special place in 10,000-year timeline.
Now imagine a series of tall, neon-lit messages standing upright along the timeline — visible to every generation as they pass by. The Golden Rule, “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you,” is etched across it. But when we look there is something lost in translation. We cherish the Golden Rule when it applies to people sitting across from us at the dinner table or walking beside us in the neighborhood. But when it comes to those who came before or those who will come after — suddenly, reciprocity of the Golden Rule is an inconvenient truth.
The bottom line is that the visual symmetry of this timeline is striking — whatever we choose to do, can also be chosen by any generation. If we choose to pollute, extract, and waste with abandon, then we implicitly accept that our ancestors would have done the same. But if we grimace at the idea of receiving a ravaged Earth from the past, we must also recognize that we have no moral ground to do the same for the future.
So why the disconnect?
Why, with this clear visualization of translational symmetry of the consequences of our actions, do we still act with such reckless asymmetry in choices we make?
Let us begin with the most cited culprit: The Tragedy of the Commons. The phrase sounds poetic, but its implications are brutal. When shared resources — air, water, forests, climate — are unregulated, individual users act in their own self-interest and overexploit the resource, even though it is against everyone’s long-term interest. We all know this story. No one wants to be the sucker who conserves while everyone else exploits. So, we all rush in. We grab what we can. We rationalize.
If I do not take this flight, someone else will.
If I do not drive this car, if I do not build this factory, if I do not expand this business — someone else will.
And so, we participate in the tragedy of the commons. Collective action toward the greater good, when left to individual choice, becomes an entropic impossibility. It is like expecting that, in the absence of a brain, the trillion cells in our body will act independently yet somehow coordinate well enough to sustain our well-being.
Then there’s temporal discounting, a psychological trait for how we routinely undervalue the future. This is not just selfishness; it is baked into our biology.
Our ancestors evolved in environments where immediate threats — predators, famine, disease — mattered more than far-off consequences. If the berries are ripe today, you eat them. You do not save them for a hypothetical famine next year. That impulse — consume now, worry later — may have served us well in a world of short lifespans and local consequences. But today, that same impulse does not serve us well. No wonder, saving money for the rainy day or for retirement is a hard commitment to make and follow.
And perhaps we do not honestly believe the future exists. Not in a visceral way. We speak of our grandchildren, but we do not picture them living in a degraded environment. We live under a kind of moral anesthesia, comfortably numb to our fingerprints on time.
There is another human trait that deserves mention: moral licensing — doing something good and feeling that we have earned the right to do something less good (or bad) afterward without guilt. We go for a run in the morning and then feel fine eating an extra slice of cake later. We buy a reusable bag and feel we have earned a vacation in Bali. We switch to LED bulbs and celebrate with a weekend shopping spree.
We mistake awareness of something for action. We confuse intention with impact.
And then there is the evolutionary desire to be seen, to be validated, to rise in the pecking order. A small hybrid car is good. A bigger hybrid SUV is better. Who can fly more to attend climate summits at faraway places and reach the million-miler status first and to bring that up in casual conversations.
All of these traits — evolved instincts, psychological quirks, social pressures — create a fog through which we look towards the future. If we can articulate the temporal symmetry of choices, and believe in the Golden Rule, then the moral burden of our action is squarely on our shoulders.
It is a simple question to ask: If the environment we have today had been ruined 5,000 years ago by people with our level of capability and our level of negligence, how would we feel?
Would we curse them?
Would we say, “How could they have known and still done nothing?”
Even if we pretend that we are not sure about the consequences of our actions, should we not err on the side of caution? Should we not hope that our ancestors would have done the same for us?
But now, if you will excuse me, it is time for me to drive four miles to the neighborhood coffee shop. I need to buy a tall cappuccino made from beans shipped 6,000 miles away, served in a disposable paper cup with a plastic lid. I will sip it while basking in air-conditioned comfort and pretend to feel virtuous because I brought my own straw. And there I will ponder, with renewed energy brought on by coffee, the moral burden of the choices I (we) make.
Ciao, and thanks for reading