I wonder what questions are not worth answering. What is the boundary that separates human pondering from wise to maniacal? When does our reading into the source code of things become pedantic? When does “everything happens for a reason” betray itself to coincidence?

I find peace in the unpredictability of life by finding lessons in it. Little happenstances that center me back on a course of mastery. I derive them even from the most stubborn of ordinary moments. But then they happen again, and again. Insignificant, coincidental, ordinary moments. They grate on my good nature. I run myself ragged looking for a pattern, trying to find the lesson I’m being tested on. And I can’t help but wonder if there isn’t one.

I still believe we can take things away from all spectrums of moments. I think each trial of the universe is a crossroads and we have a choice. But perhaps it’s less about divine tampering and more about growing calluses against the friction of life. Adapting our skin to its scrutinizing rays. Maybe it’s less about finding something new and more about using what we have. Life is hard, we know that much. Perhaps no divine undertow is suggesting that there’s more for us to know, perhaps it’s encouraging us to put what we have into practice.