The Day I Accidentally Met Epicurus
Over a 2:59 PM cortado
I experienced the wildest case of synchronicity today.
Every once in a while, I’ll spiral—not in the dramatic, diary-entry sense, but more like a quiet mental detour where I start obsessing over the point of it all. Not in a pessimistic “nothing matters” way. Just in a wide-eyed, sincere, what are we doing here? kind of way. I’ll chew on it for a day or two, then pivot back to thinking about whether I should chop my hair again or go gluten-free or move to Australia. But today was one of those days. Full-blown metaphysical mind-loop.
The question on deck: What’s the meaning of life? I know, real original. But I mean it—I ask myself this all the time, and the answer keeps changing.
Today’s answer? Fun.
But not fun like spa days and shopping carts and TikTok dopamine hits. I mean earned fun—the kind that sneaks up on you halfway up a mountain trail or being vulnerable with someone or stepping far out of your comfort zone. The kind of fun that comes after the effort. Not the pursuit of pleasure, but the pleasure of pursuit.
It's not hedonistic at all. In fact, I think the real version of fun—the good kind—can’t be handed to you. It has to be infused into the hard stuff. Think: parenthood (I assume), building something from scratch, running a company, etc.
And then—just before we closed the coffee shop—a man walked in, ordered a cortado, and answered my question for me.
Synchronicity at the Espresso Machine
He was the kind of customer who really thinks before answering “How’s your day going?” After a beat, he said, “You know, not terribly.” And I responded with, “That’s my favorite kind of day.”
From there, it was like the universe pulled up a barstool. He brought up a spiritual teacher named Shanti Mai, who teaches that “today is what you make of it.” And suddenly, we were knee-deep in a philosophical conversation over a cortado.
I told him my theory of the day—that the meaning of life might just be fun, but not the kind that’s sold in vacation packages. The kind you build into your days. He listened, nodded, then casually said, “You would’ve gotten along with Epicurus.”
I raised an eyebrow.
He explained how Epicurus—a name I knew vaguely but hadn’t studied—built his entire philosophy around the idea that pleasure is the goal, but not in the overindulgent, all-you-can-eat way people often assume. Epicurean pleasure is about living wisely and well. Enjoying time with good people. Soaking in simple moments. Being here, not somewhere shinier.
If that’s not synchronicity, I don’t know what is.
Epicurus, Reintroduced
In case you, too, only know Epicurus as that name you half-remember from your “Intro to Philosophy” syllabus, here’s the gist:
He believed the path to happiness isn’t paved with power or prestige or pleasure for pleasure’s sake. It’s about living simply, rationally, and deeply connected to what actually matters.
Here’s what that looked like for him—and maybe could for us:
Enjoy the small stuff
“Do not spoil what you have by desiring what you have not.”
He was deeply anti-FOMO before that was a thing. When you’re constantly reaching for more, you miss the peace in what’s already yours.
Prioritize real friendships
“Of all the things which wisdom provides…the greatest is friendship.”
That one hit like a ton of bricks. Relationships built on mutual trust and presence were essential to his version of the good life. (Harder said than done.)
Stop fearing death
“Death is nothing to us, for when we exist, death is not present.”
The anxiety so many of us carry—about aging, legacy, time running out—he’d argue it’s useless. If you live well, death doesn’t get to steal your peace.
So yeah. I thought I was having another useless spiral about the meaning of life. Turns out, I was circling a philosophy that’s been around for over two thousand years.
Thank you to the man in the coffee shop for reintroducing me to Epicurus. And thank you to the espresso machine for somehow being the most underrated portal to the universe.
All love. McC.