Cozy Nihilism: Everything Is Meaningless, But I Made Soup
Tuesday, July 8, 2025.
“Nothing matters. I swept the floor. I’m learning French. The basil’s doing okay.”
Welcome to the quiet revolution of Cozy Nihilism, a worldview stitched together from existential dread and decent lighting.
You’ve probably seen it—or lived it. A loaf of sourdough and a Camus quote.
A candle lit in protest of absolutely everything. A friend texting, “The planet’s dying. I’m reorganizing my spice rack.”
It’s not apathy. It’s not exactly hope either. It’s the emotional middle ground between burnout and total collapse.
And surprisingly? It’s working.
What Is Cozy Nihilism?
It’s the act of doing small, human things in full knowledge that none of it really matters in the long run. And doing them anyway.
You accept that the universe is vast and indifferent. That systems are broken. That control is mostly an illusion. And then you put on a sweater and make soup.
This isn’t resignation—it’s adaptation.
It’s Viktor Frankl, if he’d had a slow-cooker and a compost bin.
Why It’s Spreading Now
People are emotionally fried.
Burned out on activism, on algorithms, on trying to win the news cycle. Therapy culture taught us the language for boundaries and triggers, but it didn’t always give us the stamina to use it forever.
So we shrink our lives. We reclaim the small things. We decide that folding laundry is enough today. We become suspicious of grand narratives, and more devoted to getting our dishes done.
This is the shape of survival now. Small, doable, and quiet.
What It Isn’t
Cozy nihilism isn’t apathy. It’s not about giving up. It’s about choosing what’s left when the big stuff no longer makes sense.
Not “nothing matters, so why bother?”
But “nothing matters, and I still want to make something warm.”
That’s not hopeless. That’s grace under pressure.
The Clinical Angle: Post-Burnout Clarity
In trauma recovery, this is sometimes what happens after the storm—after the hypervigilance and the over-functioning and the five-year plan to Fix Everything About Yourself.
You get tired. But not collapsed. Just… still.
In grief theory, this echoes the Dual Process Model: we oscillate between facing loss and rebuilding life. Cozy nihilism leans into the rebuilding—not because we’re over it, but because we’re not.
It’s the human instinct to sweep the floor while the world is ending. And it’s not wrong.
So What Happens After the Soup?
You’ve accepted the premise. The void is real, and you’re no longer arguing with it.
You made soup anyway. You lit the candle. You finally threw out the shirt from that thing.
You’ve stopped trying to save the world before 9 a.m.
You’re not numb, but you’re definitely quieter.
And then one day, the fog lifts a little. You’ve got a bit more capacity. The soup is still warm. And this thought appears:
Now what?
How to Stay Human Without Having to Care About Everything All the Time
You can’t care about everything. You’re not broken. You’re just finite.
There’s a name for this: compassion fatigue, moral injury, burnout—but beneath all of it is the same thing: we were never meant to carry the entire world in our heads.
So don’t.
Try this instead:
1. Shrink the circle.
Start local. Actual local. Your building. Your cousin. The barista who’s clearly had a morning. If you can’t show up for everyone, show up for someone.
2. Pick one thing.
One cause. One project. One piece of the mess you can actually stick with. Let it matter, not because it’s urgent, but because you care. Quietly. Sustainably.
3. Let maintenance count.
Vacuuming. Feeding the cat. Texting back. These things aren’t distractions from “real” change. They’re the ecosystem where real change begins.
4. Redefine what being informed means.
You don’t need every headline. You don’t need to fight every fire. One trusted source. One quiet update. That’s enough. The world keeps spinning whether or not you read the thinkpiece.
5. Let yourself matter to far fewer people.
You don’t need to be a voice for the voiceless if you can be a relief to the overwhelmed. That’s still work. That’s still kindness. That still matters.
In the End
You’re not required to fix it all.
You’re allowed to care in ways that don’t cost you everything. You’re allowed to put something down and come back later. You’re allowed to rest, to redirect, and to protect your ability to feel.
Cozy nihilism isn’t about giving up.
It’s about doing what’s still worth doing—because it’s yours to do.
Because you still want to.
Because someone has to sweep the kitchen.
And today? That someone might as well be you.
Be Well, Stay Kind, and Godspeed.