This sounds bleak at first. A person without hope, cut off from the future. But Camus is not describing despair. He is describing freedom.

Most of us live as servants to tomorrow. We defer happiness to some future state. Once I get the promotion, once I find the relationship, once I retire, then life will truly begin. The present becomes a waiting room. We endure today for the sake of an imaginary day that never quite arrives.

Hope, in this sense, is a kind of absence. We are not here because we are always out there, in some better version of our lives that exists only in imagination. We belong to the future, and so we never fully belong to now.

The person Camus describes has stopped this. Not through defeat, but through clarity. By releasing the grip on what might be, they have returned to what is. Tuesday morning is no longer a stepping stone to something else. It is its own complete reality, worthy of full attention.

This is not resignation. It is presence. When you stop living for an unlived future, you can finally inhabit the life you actually have.

Today, notice where hope has become a way of abandoning the present. What would it mean to belong fully to this day?