Life is supposed to make sense, so it’s hard for me when it doesn’t.
I mean, if you do what you’re supposed to do, things should just fall into place, right? Good things should happen to good people and hard work should be met with the reward it deserves. But that’s not always the way it works and the justice-seeker in me struggles with that.
Sometimes it’s small things like snow on Halloween that ruins your plans, or a bad day at work, or a fender-bender that sends your car back to the shop and demands money you didn’t plan on spending.
That’s not how it was supposed to go.
But you deal with it, and move on. You alter your plans and you pivot. Disappointing inconveniences, no doubt, but nothing you can’t handle.
But maybe today you’re waking up to something bigger than bad weather or unexpected expenses.
Maybe you’re opening your eyes to a situation you never imagined you’d find yourself facing.
Maybe you’re staring at something in your path you have absolutely no idea how to tackle.
Maybe the wrong done to you, or the diagnosis following you, or the devastation around you is so big and so out of left field that you haven’t even caught your breath or found your footing yet.
And maybe all you can think right now is, how is this fair?
And maybe the injustice of it all has you questioning everything else you thought you knew to be true.
I bought this mug as a reminder, even though I hate cliches.
I think people really mean well, but when you’re going through some real stuff, feeble reassurances like “hang in there” and “everything happens for a reason” and “remember everything you have to be thankful for” don’t just fall on deaf ears – they’re downright cringe-worthy.
But still, I picked up this mug because it forced me to acknowledge truth that pain likes to withhold: good is never that far from you, if you’re willing to look.
Nothing in existence is permanent. No condition, no pain, no situation, no heartbreak, no depression, no betrayal, no injustice.
But pain is like that loud friend in the group who demands all the attention, cutting off everyone and everything else who might have something to say.
Soon, all you can hear is the pain. All you can see is the negativity. All you can feel is the fallout.
And it’s not that the other voices aren’t there anymore; they’re just being drowned out by something louder.
So, I bought this mug, even though I hate cliches.
Because I’ve seen good things through tears.
And maybe you have, too.
This story originally appeared on Daylight to Dark