Sometimes I wonder why it seems to be the human condition that so many people have to work jobs they hate just to get by. Bleak faces, empty stares and glares abound. Everyone is worried, stressed out and living for the weekend and holiday it seems.

This is a terrible way to live.

Work seems to be an integral part of what it means to live as a human being, a necessity of sorts. This poses some questions about contentment. Is it necessary to have a life that is “fulfilling”, whatever that means? Should one not just be grateful to have a job, food on the table and a roof over one's head? Is there something deeper?

Or is the supreme purpose of life simply to pass on one's genes?