Is it possible things happen for a reason, or are events and circumstances just tossed about randomly like pinballs, striking us with no particular purpose or reason? I fly back and forth between both ideologies so rapidly, I am in danger of whiplash.
Is it simply comforting to us to believe things have a purpose, a reason, even if we can’t identify it? Even if we see no reason at all?
I don’t want to be placated or soothed like an infant. If there is no “why”, I want to know that…to know that life’s joys and pains truly mean nothing, bring no lesson, carry no depth or meaning into my heart.
Or maybe it only means something when you make it mean something. That is beyond placation or empty, comforting white noise; it is survival, living, scratching and clawing to do more than just exist and take up space. Maybe making your own reason for suffering is the true divisor between the weak masses and the ones who will eventually make it.
*”Hand of Fate” photo courtesy of Sabin Corneliu Buraga*