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 ever did or thought or loved will be forgotten. Even the Earth itself will one day vanish. 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 discovered or uncovered, like an archaeological artifact waiting beneath the dust of distraction. 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 morning sun. The kindness of a stranger. 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 a Practiced 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 crisis hasn't vanished, but it’s becoming a companion rather than an enemy. A reminder to live deliberately, with intention, because the clock is ticking—and because no one’s keeping score.

Legacy is a Mirage — But Connection is Real

I used to worry about what I’d leave behind. Now I think: dust, mostly. But I also think about conversations, hugs, laughter shared across tables. Those may not last forever, but they shaped the people who shape the next moment. That ripple is real, even if it doesn’t get my name 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 paradox might be the most Stoic thing of all.

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