Samuel Beckett’s 1953 play, Waiting for Godot, presents a bleak, futile reality in which its characters understand very little about the world and accomplish even less. This play, among Beckett’s other works, aims to represent the absurdity of human existence—that humans relentlessly search for meaning from an indifferent and arbitrary universe. While Beckett may be justified in concluding that life is aimless, his cold, jarring text fails to display the sheer beauty and joy that can be born out of the aimlessness. What if we could write a play that—like Waiting for Godot—put life’s moments of nothingness on display, but also gave us a reason to go on living?