The most unfulfilling part of the whole existential crisis thing is that our conclusions always fall on our own deaf ears. Every single time I’ve found myself in a reverie I inevitably come to the same old answer that we all hit upon: nothing really matters except enjoying your life and being there to help others enjoy theirs. Religious quandary aside, I think that’s what we all know to be true and what we all should accept to be true. But really, instead of completely enjoying our lives, we find ourselves asking the same questions again and again. I wish that it could just hit home without having to consciously remind oneself of this so obvious fact, so that things could just be enjoyed for what they are, and not what they aren’t or what they could be.

If I have to fill a day with hours of Football Manager and I’m happier for it, then to hell with the worries and regrets that go along with a day in bed. Of course we need productive days to facilitate continued or even better entertainment, but to regret is absurd and insulting. Not only that but it’s no doubt the sort of attitude that makes that very day in bed (make that almost every day) all the more attractive. We must always strive for happiness, not contentment. An obvious fact, but as creatures of habit it is one of which we often need reminding.

There’s a fine line to be struck between constant awareness of one’s mortality, and the constant awareness of the importance of good living. The former brings existential angst into unpalletablely sharp focus, while the latter can make happy imbeciles of us all.