Life would be bearable only if cyclical, like Tolkien's primordial unfallen Wood Elves.
Each day the same, no planning, no history, not going anywhere - waking to a day of hunting, eating, singing, love of nature - then sleep.
No ageing nor sickness, no necessity of death - everything governed by instinct and custom.
No sense of the years passing, no accumulation of sorrows and regrets; no big projects, no purpose - just more and more of the same until the (unanticipated) end.
A life ultimately non-attached.
No meaning, no purpose - instead absorption.
A non-reflective life, an unaware life.
A life strikingly similar to non-Christian Heaven.
Something big missing?
The human bit?
Yes, that's how it seems to me too.
To imagine a kind of timeless human perfection is therefore to reveal that to be merely human is fundamentally unsatisfactory, it is intrinsically wretched.
To be human is to be wretchedly incomplete, to be an animal is not to be human; to be truly human entails becoming a god - which (if to be a god is not to be merely an immortal human) requires God.
To be an immortal god is wretched unless in communion with God.
Thus human destiny - like it or not, choose it or not.