If you want to have your cake and eat it too with absurdism and a non-indifferent universe, check out the book of Ecclesiastes from the Hebrew wisdom literature. The author writes like there is an intelligent, caring order to reality, but it is so large and unknowable that it gives the impression of a chaotic and meaningless existence. The only solution is to simply be happy when you're happy, sad when you're sad, and know that you're not meant to understand it.
Nostalgia I think can be a dangerous thing, because it idealizes imperfect times and draws away from the current moment. It's inherently 'Aλγος'. I find that it helps to remind myself that someday I'll be nostalgic for moments that haven't passed yet, but I'm still too nostalgic I think.
A large source of meaninglessness comes from (increasingly mandatory) convenience. What value does anything have when you can be gratified pretty immediately? Japan has this culture of ceremony that rails against the policy of convenience, but how much more special is anything when there's ritual involved? What's the difference between a hand-poured coffee and coffee from a machine? What's the difference between an Mp3 and a vinyl record? A movie streamed to your phone and a night out at the theater? The market suggests that we want instant gratification, but I don't think we really do. You exercise your soul when you participate in your pleasures with intention.
If you want to have your cake and eat it too with absurdism and a non-indifferent universe, check out the book of Ecclesiastes from the Hebrew wisdom literature. The author writes like there is an intelligent, caring order to reality, but it is so large and unknowable that it gives the impression of a chaotic and meaningless existence. The only solution is to simply be happy when you're happy, sad when you're sad, and know that you're not meant to understand it.
Nostalgia I think can be a dangerous thing, because it idealizes imperfect times and draws away from the current moment. It's inherently 'Aλγος'. I find that it helps to remind myself that someday I'll be nostalgic for moments that haven't passed yet, but I'm still too nostalgic I think.
A large source of meaninglessness comes from (increasingly mandatory) convenience. What value does anything have when you can be gratified pretty immediately? Japan has this culture of ceremony that rails against the policy of convenience, but how much more special is anything when there's ritual involved? What's the difference between a hand-poured coffee and coffee from a machine? What's the difference between an Mp3 and a vinyl record? A movie streamed to your phone and a night out at the theater? The market suggests that we want instant gratification, but I don't think we really do. You exercise your soul when you participate in your pleasures with intention.