Everyday Philosophy: Waiting in Line for Meaning

The average person, over the course of their life, will spend somewhere between two and five years just… waiting in lines. Whoa. Wait, five YEARS? That can't be right. That's like... an entire university degree spent at the DMV. Right? And it makes me think about our conversation last week, you know, finding meaning in tangled cords. That felt like an active puzzle. But a queue is different. A queue is passive. It's pure, unadulterated waiting. It's a void. You're not doing anything, you're not going anywhere. You're just… stuck in this weird human-sized buffer. Exactly. And that feeling, that specific kind of friction between your desire to be somewhere else and the reality that you are NOT moving… that's the heart of Absurdism.

Okay, so you’re bringing out the heavy hitters today. Albert Camus at the grocery store. I mean, where else would he be? The absurd isn't some grand, cosmic event. It's the checkout line. It's the clash between our deep, human need for logic and progress and meaning... and a universe that offers absolutely none of that. Huh. So the universe is the slow cashier who refuses to make eye contact. The universe is the slow cashier! It's the person in front of you paying in exact change. It's the sudden "price check on aisle three." The universe is completely, totally indifferent to your impatience.

And that gap—between your screaming internal need to MOVE and the world’s silent refusal—that's the absurd. Mm-hm. And we do all these little things to pretend it isn't happening. We pull out our phones, we scroll through emails we don't need to read, we rearrange the items on the conveyor belt… We create little systems of meaning! We impose order on our little corner of the void to feel a sense of control that we absolutely do not have. So what’s the Absurdist answer, then? If distracting ourselves with our phones is just, you know, a coping mechanism, what are we supposed to do?

Just stand there and… vibrate with rage? You could! That's one option. But Camus had a different idea. He points to the myth of Sisyphus. The guy pushing the rock up the hill for eternity. For eternity. He pushes this massive boulder up a hill, only for it to roll back down the second he reaches the top. And he has to do it again. Forever. It's the ultimate meaningless, repetitive task. It's the ultimate Monday morning. It really is. But Camus makes this incredible turn. He says we must imagine Sisyphus HAPPY. Happy? How? Why? His existence is pointless. Because Sisyphus recognizes the full, crushing absurdity of his situation.

He sees it for what it is—pointless, endless labor. And in that moment of clear-eyed recognition, he is free. The rock is his thing. The struggle itself becomes his meaning. He's not hoping the rock stays up top. He's not praying for a different hill. He accepts the terms of his existence. So… my shopping cart is my boulder. Your shopping cart is your boulder! And you have a choice. You can suffer because the line isn't moving, you can curse the universe for its indifference. Or you can look at the absurdity of it all—these bags of chips, this carton of milk, this whole bizarre ritual—and just… accept it.

There’s something powerful in that. In not trying to find a secret lesson or a way to be more productive in the waiting. It’s not about finding meaning in the line. No! It's about living, fully, in the absence of meaning. It's a revolt. You revolt by being present to the pointlessness, by acknowledging it, and by choosing not to be defeated by it. You see the void and you don't flinch. So next time I'm stuck, I shouldn't try to answer emails. I should just stand there, look at the person ahead of me, look at the cashier, and just… be. And maybe, I don't know, find it a little bit funny.

I think that’s the whole point. You find the freedom in the futility. It's not about winning. It's about how you choose to push the rock.