Following the laws of aestheticism, literature should neither be a moral teaching, nor should it have life’s answers. The reader alone can formulate theories to questions being asked; in fact, they are often tasked with being the ones to find the questions that are implicitly posed. In Waiting for Godot, Beckett offers an insight into existential ideas through allegorical characters. The questions of who Godot is - or rather, what it could be- and the reasonability of waiting for him are two empirical questions; without any real answers, this paper will delve into a guess, based on how Beckett himself presents the philosophical questions. Now, Godot, an elusive being, is nothing more than sheer will and consequently human desires itself. To achieve anything, one needs to do more than wish upon a shooting star; there must be an intrinsic desire that pushes you – to not only want something, but to take the necessary steps to get it. In this cycle of Waiting for Godot, the brain and spirit both wait for will. They passively dance around in circles, looping endlessly yet never truly going any further than where they are. This state of being universally speaks to depressive episodes in particular. It is the feeling of being trapped. But surely one day, a passion, a flame will burn within again? Won’t it? If one can just get through the day: sleep just enough so tomorrow will turn into today, eat just enough so breakfast will turn into dinner, read just enough so one book will turn into ten. Because that will have been a sign that time has passed, and if time has passed then that means better days must be near. Right? This leads to the subsequent question of should one wait for Godot. That is should humanity go through the motions, should they continue to count the minutes, checking the watch habitually wondering when the next minute will start, though the last had just begun. Or even, should they be the slaves not to time itself, but to the world around that revolves on the very concept of time. Humans can pretend to live in the moment; seizing each day as it comes, yet the truth is: they will forever be on a leash, slaves to the tests of time that threatens to wear and tear all. Back to the concept of a depressive episode, should one continue to wait when time ticks, its voice thrilling in your ear reminding you of its presence. Should one wait, even when this cry of the clock starts turning into a mere whimper. Beckett offers no answers. Yet he delivers, in the form of a boy, hope; which seems to be as close to an answer as to why, or even should they wait. Hope is an anchor to reality that motivates you to keep going when will fails to appear. Human hope is fleeting, however. The body and mind merely function in that split moment where hope is at its zenith. And then as hope comes and goes, one continues to remind themselves that there is a purpose, meaning to their meaningless actions and that one day, this unavailing hope will no longer be needed because the drive and volition needed to live and not merely exist will at some point come. Alas, once more, this is all a mere cycle. And, again, the worthiness of it all is never confirmed. Though the author never tells the reader who Godot is, and as such readers will never know and though he also does not affirm whether their efforts were futile or not, through these questions the author establishes to the reader one main concept: the need for humanity to keep moving, whether they are tumbling backwards, or rushing forward, or simply marching on the spot in the time-space continuum, they just keep going. They keep talking in circles, in vulgarity, in jokes. They keep acting mindlessly, violently, humorously. They just keep doing, keep being, so as to not have to think.