“Life,” he told me, “ought to be filled with always striving for something. It keeps life interesting.”
Intuitively I felt that he was right in some way. It reminded me of the concept of “flow”, where you’re so engaged in an activity that is just beyond your comfort level that you lose all sense of self; but at the same time, I felt that “always striving” wasn’t always necessary.
Was it not possible to achieve bliss through the reading of a good book on a rainy Saturday morning?