Albert Camus wrote the book Myth of Sisyphus.
The myth of Sisyphus is an endless toil of pushing the boulder up on top of the mountain. As soon as he is closer to the top, the rock rolls down to the bottom. He goes back down to do the same thing over again. A never-ending loop. In Camus’ book, we have to assume that he is happy.
A futile laborious effort. An eternal waste of time. Repetitive. Boring. Useless.
Is the joy in the struggle?
What is he trying to prove?
Maybe he is a narcissistic masochist.