Just experiencing life seems like joy enough for most critters, I expect even for the various metamorphic stages of the dragon flies captured in the grandparent frequently crashing on Marengo beach. Clearly they weren't an omen, but the joy-suffering incommensurability is never more in evidence than in sport where the Saints stole one then had one stolen from them in the intervening fortnight. If anyone should know they should that coming second is a whole lot better than coming last, but even last is better than not coming at all.

As for misplaced quests for efficiency, just know they are properly called "cancer".

For the record, I've linked an interesting interview from somebody who almost gets it, save and except that he confuses our ubiquitous scalar approximation of indebtedness to nature with similarly arbitrary systems of scoring sporting contests.