There’s something about the hard-core indolent that is deeply unsettling. Here we all are, constantly told that we have to work for the good things in life, only to find there are bums more serene than we are. If that’s OK, then why do we bother with all that activity? Are we simply creating an illusion of purposeful action to distract ourselves from the ultimate meaninglessness of everything? Given we’re born with nothing and we die with nothing, isn’t there a kind of existential courageousness in embracing a life in which nothing much happens because nothing that happens really matters anyway?
Latest FT Weekend Magazine column (March 10/11)