Things are not going well. Maybe someone close to you just died. You just got a life-altering medical diagnosis. A global pandemic ended the world as you knew it. You lost your job. Your partner broke up with you. And here it comes: you tell someone about the pain you’re experiencing, and they tell you that everything happens for a reason.

If you’re like me, you may be feeling like it’s time to retire this phrase. For one, does it actually make anyone feel better? Even though I know that many people who say this mean well, what I hear beneath these words is that some higher power or the universe itself has decided that my pain is okay. Or worse--that I somehow deserve it.

Even those of us who hate the phrase “everything happens for a reason” can often get stuck in the trap of believing it. We’re in the midst of something terrible, and we’re clawing for meaning. Maybe this will open the door to something I need. Maybe there’s a lesson I’m supposed to learn from this. Maybe without this, better things won’t happen next.

Meaning-making is a human impulse. We hold on to ideas like “everything happens for a reason” because it helps us to organize the chaos of our lives into something that gives us a sense of control. When we write our own narratives, we are deciding what everything means. We can ease some of the pain of our experiences by saying that they brought us growth. 

CAN OUR BRAINS DO THIS RIGHT NOW? 

But it’s kind of a lot of pressure, right? Especially when you’re still living through a stressful or negative experience. Expecting yourself, say, in the middle of a global pandemic, to be able to glean some lesson or appreciation for this dark time is a pretty big ask. 

When our lives are falling apart, when every day feels the same, when we’re in the midst of big grief or big transition, we really, really want the suffering to have a point. But we have to remember that our brains aren’t equipped to do large-scale meaning making, especially when we’re in the midst of trauma. 

Humans of New York recently shared a story about a woman who worked as a curator for the 9/11 Tribute Center. She talked about interviewing survivors and first responders right after the event and how those interviews compare to reflections on 9/11 now, 20 years later: 

“In the beginning [the stories] were so raw. People took the opportunity to release their anger, and grief, and sorrow. I’m glad we have those early interviews. Because I never want to lose what happened. But over the years the anger faded. And the grief softened as well. There was still emotion in the stories, but it began to be coupled with reflection. And commentary. People gained perspective on their trauma. They spoke of ways they had grown from it: things they had learned, people who’d helped them. More than anything--I think all of us were collectively realizing that we didn’t fall apart.”

We have reached a point in our lives and in history where we have distance from that particular traumatic event, but our current meaning-making doesn’t make the initial feelings in the interviews less true. The anger, grief, and sorrow were also real. When I think about the pandemic and I consider it alongside how we have processed 9/11, I wonder what kind of meaning people were trying to derive in, say, 2003. I think now, 20 years after the towers fell, we would look at 2003 and say, oh, that’s still too close. We didn’t know anything yet. 

What do we know of COVID-19 in 2021? How can we make meaning in this moment if we’re still too close to the trauma? Are there other other outlooks besides “everything happens for a reason” that might feel more useful? 

“MAY BE” 

This Taoist story may give us something to chew on:

An old farmer had worked his crops for many years. One day his horse ran away. Upon hearing the news, his neighbors came to visit. "Such bad luck," they said sympathetically. "May be," the farmer replied.

The next morning the horse returned, bringing with it three other wild horses. "How wonderful," the neighbors exclaimed. "May be," replied the old man.

The following day, his son tried to ride one of the untamed horses, was thrown, and broke his leg. The neighbors again came to offer their sympathy on his misfortune. "May be," answered the farmer.

The day after, military officials came to the village to draft young men into the army. Seeing that the son's leg was broken, they passed him by. The neighbors congratulated the farmer on how well things had turned out. "May be," said the farmer.

I’ve seen this story used as an argument for neutrality--if we don’t assign positive or negative meaning to anything that happens to us, we won’t live in the land of expectation and disappointment, and we won’t equivocate the things that happen to us with our value as human beings. 

We might accept the possibility that things don’t happen for a reason--they just happen. And a happy ending isn’t guaranteed. We are only here in our present circumstances, unaware of our next chapter. I like this story because it suggests that there’s another way to live outside of looking for reasons all the time, but I don’t think I have the inner peace required to be like the farmer. My feelings get too messy. The mourning and the worry, of course, but also the celebration. Remaining neutral in circumstances that seem positive or negative means that you may get rid of your downs, but you also get rid of your ups, too. 

SEEK SOLACE WITH THE ABSURDITY OF THINGS

As indie musician and TikTok star (yep, here we are again) Sky McKee put it, “Maybe not everything happens for a reason. Maybe if you seek solace with the absurdity of things, it’ll bring you peace.”

Seek solace with the absurdity of things. 

This speaks to me in a way that “may be” doesn’t. I think we can all agree that the world is full of absurdity, and some of us might even feel like we’re pretty good at spotting it, and, upon occasion, appreciating it. Absurdity is constantly happening on a large and small scale, which makes seeking solace in it feel more attainable than trying to process a huge life or world event all in one go. Or maybe it is easier to believe in absurdity because I can see it. 

How should we, then, live? How do we seek solace in the absurdity of things? 

If the mental gymnastics of “everything happens for a reason” doesn’t bring you peace, you may take comfort in the idea that the universe is random. This strips the association of things that happen from the people they happen to. 

When you’re in the trenches of grief, worry, or trauma, consider that you are not a target. You did not attract this in some way. You are not being punished, nor are you being strengthened for greater victories or challenges ahead. It is not your responsibility to say what any of this means, or to process your experience in a way that ties a neat little narrative bow on things. (Especially if the story you are telling is just to make other people feel better.) 

Your only responsibility is to survive--preferably in a way that brings you comfort and consolation. 

If the idea of leaning into absurdity resonates with you, come back next week for Part 2 in this blog series, in which we’ll consider how downsizing your narratives of meaning can lead you to a happier life. 

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