WordPress Daily Writing Prompt #2838 for July 30, 2026
I believed “everything happens for a reason” for the majority of my life. I confess to sharing sappy memes stating as much on social media, and I recall multiple occasions when I uttered those exact words to friends navigating hard times or crises. I no longer believe this. Some events are so horrific—whether they affect one person or entire populations—that there is simply no grand design behind them. There is no hidden benefit, personal growth, or cultural evolution intended by them. The causal effects of terrible events are not well-intentioned.
Take, for example, the horrific events of 9/11. Decades of research and analysis tell us that 9/11 happened because of Islamic extremism, widespread anti-American sentiment abroad, extremist perceptions of U.S. foreign policy, the crushing social pressures of poverty and repressive regimes, and the availability of weapons combined with a worldwide communication network. All of these factors combined to create the conditions and opportunity for the attack. It was designed to unsettle America specifically, and Western nations in general.
Thousands of people lost their lives. How it happened, and what put it into motion, is a matter of cause and effect—the cold mechanics of history. What I reject is the notion that there was a cosmic reason why those thousands of people died at once, as if it were ordained by fate to teach a lesson or fulfill a destiny.
Reconciling the rejection of cosmic destiny with the crushing reality of terrible events comes down to separating mechanical causes from cosmic purpose. When people say “everything happens for a reason,” they usually mean a grand, benevolent plan. However, you can completely reject that idea while still acknowledging that tragedy has real, tangible, and devastating causal effects.
- Tragedy is not a lesson: You do not have to believe a terrible event happened just to teach you something. That mindset minimizes real pain.
- Redemption is an afterthought, not a blueprint: The aftermath of a terrible event might force you to grow, change careers, or help others. That growth is a consequence of your resilience, not the purpose of the tragedy.
Asking “Why did that happen?” is an exercise in futility. The important question is, “What am I going to do about it?”
Instead of believing that everything happens for a reason, I am nurturing an empowering belief that restores my agency: Everything I do is for a reason. The only thing I can control is how I respond to what happens to me, regardless of the mechanics behind it. I can give every reaction and every decision personal purpose by always responding with dignity, respect, and empathy. These values make me an active participant in my own life, and how my life affects others. Is what I say necessary? Is what I do kind? Am I making a positive difference for someone else? These are the questions I want to ask.
When I respond to the pain someone else is suffering, I don’t want to use those hollow words anymore. I just want to be there, do what needs doing, and acknowledge their hurt without trying to explain it away.
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Hi Maria,
Thank you for sharing such a thoughtful, nuanced perspective. Decoupling mechanical causality from cosmic teleology is a crucial distinction. It allows us to respect history and human suffering without reducing tragedy to a cheap moral lesson. You’ve clearly given this a lot of thought, and your conclusion about reclaiming personal agency is both logical and deeply compassionate.
I wonder when people cling to “everything happens for a reason”, whether they’re trying to satisfy two distinct needs: a cognitive need for order in a chaotic universe, and an emotional need for comfort amidst pain.
By replacing that blueprint with personal agency, you’ve solved the moral problem of cosmic intent. But it raises a couple of interesting questions:
1. How do you find balance when someone you care about isn’t ready to drop that narrative? Is there a way to validate their need for cosmic comfort without enabling a viewpoint you now see as harmful?
2. If redemption is purely a consequence of human resilience rather than destiny, do you think our culture’s obsession with “silver linings” actually hinders people from properly processing grief?
I really appreciate the clarity you’ve brought to this topic. Reframing the focus from “Why did this happen?” to “How will I respond?” is a far more constructive framework for navigating life.
Best wishes,
Bob
Question: 1. How do you find balance when someone you care about isn’t ready to drop that narrative? Is there a way to validate their need for cosmic comfort without enabling a viewpoint you now see as harmful?
Answer: I wouldn’t have to seek balance, because my balance wouldn’t be tipped. Everyone grieves differently. How deeply, how long, when, where, and how—–and it’s really not my place to put conditions on how someone grieves, nor to question the validity of their personal beliefs. I think I would be a better friend, or supportive family member, by offering support, time, love, and empathy with no judgement. While I may not agree with someone who believes in “reasons for all things,” that does not mean I must mention it. Not everything needs to be said out loud, or said at all. I want to treat everyone with the same respect I would hope to receive if the circumstances were reversed.
Question: 2. If redemption is purely a consequence of human resilience rather than destiny, do you think our culture’s obsession with “silver linings” actually hinders people from properly processing grief?
Answer: I don’t think that seeking silver linings hinders grief processing, not for the person who is experiencing grief. The flip side to that, for me, is when someone “forces” optimism upon the person who is grieving. By wanting them to bounce back quickly and to embrace the whole “they’re in a better place” thing—–big time hindrances because outside expectations govern inside feelings.This would be a great conversation (or even a blog/essay topic). I have opinions about American “grief.” There are many cultural pressures on “the grief process” and none of them are beneficial—–even though most folks who have those expectations likely mean well—-because they themselves have difficulty with death and dying.
Thank you for your thoughtful comment. I appreciate your engagement. You make me think about things. I appreciate how you can ask questions or offer a different perspective to consider, with a light touch. I hope you realize how kind you are.
In my second answer, I need to clarify something.
For the first part of my response: ” I don’t think that seeking silver linings hinders grief processing, not for the person who is experiencing grief. The flip side to that, for me, is when someone “forces” optimism upon the person who is grieving.”
I wrote that out poorly. I apologize. I meant to say that if the person who is grieving is the seeker of a silver lining—–I don’t think they hinder themselves. A person needs to handle their grief in their own way.
And, if another person is trying to force a “silver lining mentality” on a grieving person, then it’s a problem.
Maria,
Thank you for your warm words. That means a great deal to me.
Your response to the first question shows a remarkable degree of emotional maturity. Recognising that offering comfort doesn’t require ideological alignment – or even correcting someone’s coping mechanism – is a subtle distinction that many people miss. Silence and unconditional presence are often far more powerful than theological debate.
Your point about the distinction between self-sought silver linings and enforced optimism is spot on, and your clarification makes total sense. When an individual actively looks for a silver lining, it’s an act of agency – a way of rebuilding meaning on their own terms. But when society imposes it, it transforms into toxic positivity, essentially demanding that the grieving person hurry up and make everyone else feel comfortable again.
Your observation about cultural pressures surrounding grief is particularly fascinating. The commercialised, hurried nature of modern grief – where people are expected to move through neat “stages” on a timeline – seems to stem from a societal discomfort with sitting in unquantifiable pain.
Given how much thought you’ve put into this, do you think our cultural urge to “fix” grief is just a fear of helplessness? It feels like we’re so obsessed with efficiency and problem-solving that we’ve forgotten how to simply sit with sadness without trying to resolve it.
Best wishes,
Bob
I’m not sure it’s just fear of helplessness, but I am sure that’s part of it. Speaking as a non-professional, and in general terms, grieving is difficult to observe as a bystander. It’s painful, or at least uncomfortable. For the person in the midst of grief it’s also difficult. Men try to be so stoic. Sometimes, women of high society seem to appear quite reserved with their emotions. I’m not sure if this is self-imposed to maintain an appearance of strength and calm—-upholding family honor—or if it’s what society expects.
I have been at funerals where grieving persons expressed embarrassment because they wept in public. This one is both self-imposed and expected by others—-often we view our own tears or deep emotions as weakness—-and seeing someone weep and openly grieve makes others (not all) very uncomfortable.
The efficiency expectation is enforced by the standard three days off from work for immediate family funerals. You have three days to get your stuff in order so you can come back to work and be productive.
We also dress our dead in their finest, make them look as alive as possible with makeup and hair styling, satin lined coffins, surround them with beautiful flowers and display nice photos of them. We clean it all up, all nice and tidy, bright and shiny. It’s almost like we have developed a tradition of making death look less like death, if that makes any sense. Oh, and we don’t actually have any hands-on stuff with the dead. We leave all that tidying up to a professional, who does it all behind closed doors.
Feeling helpless is an uncomfortable feeling. Fear of death, dying, our own mortality, and the realization that at any given moment it could be us in that coffin. It’s so much easier and comfortable to say nice words and go back to taking things for granted, than it is to actually confront death, loss, and grief head on. It’s just so strange that so many people that attend a funeral are actually trying to comfort themselves when none of it is about them at all. In some ways, we are so weirdly backward about it all.
The problem solving thing is real. Likely more so for men in general, Type-A folks, and people who are controlling in nature. It’s maddening for them because they can’t fix death and grief. As a society, we have put rules and expectations on the whole process to limit our own participation in, and observation of, grieving. Since we can’t fix it, we make rules to control it.
How can we sit with sadness, when we can even sit with joy or success? And, this is where I will stop because I’m about to dive into a whole different rabbit hole. So, I will shush for now, and wish you a good evening, and a nice weekend.
Thank you for the very interesting discussion.