Nothing Really Matters — And Somehow, That’s Okay

I am a retired senior citizen. With fewer distractions and obligations, the quiet has grown louder — and with it, a deep, gnawing question:  Does anything really matter?

The answer I keep arriving at, disturbingly but persistently, is: No. Not really. Not in the long run.

Empires rise and fall. The sun will burn out. Everything I have ever done, thought, or loved will be forgotten. Even the Earth itself will one day cease to exist. What’s the point of trying to live “well” when I’m a temporary blip, a speck of dust floating in a cosmic shrug?

That’s where I am.

This, I suppose, is what some would call an existential crisis. It feels more like existential clarity—and it’s unsettling.

But I’ve been walking the Stoic path for a while now. I'm a Prokopton — a student of Stoicism, someone hopefully progressing toward wisdom, even if imperfectly. The Stoics never promised comfort. They promised coherence. A way to live honestly in a world that doesn’t owe us meaning or anything else.

So what am I discovering on this strange, disorienting leg of the journey?

The Truth is Heavy — But It Frees You

Stoicism doesn’t sugarcoat reality. It teaches us that we have no control over what happens outside our own minds. It tells us that fame, wealth, legacy—these are illusions we chase to distract us from our mortality.

The cosmic indifference I’m feeling isn’t a flaw in the system. It is the system. And the Stoics looked right at that void and said, “Even so, live with virtue.”

Here is what's oddly empowering: If nothing actually “matters” on a universal scale, then I’m free to care about what I choose to care about. That’s not nihilism. It’s liberation.

Meaning Isn’t Found — It’s Made

I used to think that meaning was something to be found. But the older I get, the more I realize: meaning isn’t found — it’s forged.

What matters to me now? A walk in the neighborhood. Spontaneous kindness. The memory of someone I loved and lost. These things are small, but they are real. And they are enough.

I don’t need the universe to care. I care. That’s enough, too.

A Good Life is an Examined Life

Seneca, Epictetus, Marcus Aurelius—they all remind us that philosophy isn’t for armchairs, it’s for action. So I keep practicing.

I pause before reacting. I reflect before judging. I notice when I’m clinging to illusions, or when I let the past or future rob the present of its peace.

The existential angst hasn't vanished; it is now a familiar companion. I use it as a reminder to live deliberately, with intention. Tick-Tock. The clock is ticking.

Legacy is a Mirage — But Connection is Real

I've never really worried about what I’d leave behind. It's all just dust in the wind. But I think about the people I've loved. I think about conversations, hugs, and laughter. Nothing lasts forever, but those small experiences shaped the people who shape the next moment. That is reality, even if my name is not engraved on it.

I don’t need to be remembered. I need to be present in this moment.

So yes — nothing really matters in the long run. But in this short run? In this tiny flicker of awareness we call life? Everything matters. And that might be the most Stoically paradoxical thought of all.

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