For a few moments, he thought of what lay ahead of him. Would he be doing this for the rest of his life -- sitting here, waiting for something to happen? And if that was all there was to it, then what exactly was the point? The artists whose work he sold were at least making things, leaving something behind them, a corpus of work. He, by contrast, would make nothing, leave nothing behind.But was that not the fate of so many of us? Most people who made their way to work each day, who sat in offices or factories, doing something which probably did not vary a lot -- pushing pieces of paper about or moving things from one place to another -- these people might equally well look at their lives and ask what the point was.Or should one really not ask that question, simply because the question in itself was a pointless one. Perhaps there was no real point to our existence -- or none that we could discern -- and that meant that the real question that had to be asked was this: How can I make my life bearable? We are here whether we like it or not, and by and large we seem to have a need to continue. In that case, the real question to be addressed is: How are we going to make the experience of being here as fulfilling, as good as possible?
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