When It All Makes Sense




Maybe it will all make sense in the end.
Maybe things will all tie up neatly and in our last gasp, we will say:
“Aah…Now I get it.”
Maybe our longing will be sated and our curiosity will be satisfied.
Maybe there’s a plausible explanation for every second we’ve spent here.

But we don’t know that now. We can’t know that.
We have to bake a little longer.

Still, we want respite from this ambiguity. We jump up and down impatiently like a greedy child grabbing at an ice cream cone. All this not really knowing has made us twitchy and uncertain. Sure, a week in Paris would indeed ease the bite of it. But most of us only have today to work with.

Since we’re here, we can….

Celebrate the yammering grandma, with her gums and kooky stories. Enjoy those few minutes with her in the checkout line at the market.

Salute the wild and dirty kids, who go shrieking through the neighborhood with their snotty noses and sticky fingers.

Cheer on the exasperated cranks, who double down on their aggravation, despite our playful cajoling and silly attempts at dippy chit chat.

Applaud the gender warriors– in their pink tights, septum piercings, evening gowns and Doc Marten boots– as they boldly blaze beyond the binary.

Ask the stranger on the bus what he’s reading.

Rejoice the weirdo in the exercise class as she does her own thing, oblivious to everything around her.

Give deep bows to any dog in a cone. Thank him for the chuckle he provided and the humility he endured.

Why the hell not?
These seemingly random encounters may be significant pieces of the mystery.

We may lose our hair, our pants or our minds.
But maybe in the end, it will be worth it.


Maybe things are already working out now but we just don’t know it.

Karma does not roll out like a feature film. We rarely get to see it in action. But maybe somewhere some asshole is getting bitten by a fire ant or is stuck in traffic or is wading through a flooded basement. It may not be our personal asshole–the jerk who done us wrong-but it’s someone’s. Maybe this is how it is supposed to happen. And maybe we’ll be OK with that.

It could go so many ways.

What if it turns out that our heartaches actually fuel the sky and that each new star is a broken dream, a disappointment, a lost love or a stillborn baby? What if our suffering transforms into infinite galaxies across a vast universe, seen by the untold eyes of life forms that we can’t even conceive of? Maybe we never really lost anything after all.



Maybe we should have turned left or bought the bigger size or made that phone call. Maybe it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. Maybe we are cobalt blue comets screaming through eternity. Or maybe all this mad revelry is just a tiny blip and crews are waiting to clean up after us.

It remains to be seen.

In the interim, we hope for the best or ignore the questions completely. We sing and play and burp and wiggle. We yell out of windows, shoot off bottle rockets and plant flowers. We chant and we pass gas. If we’re lucky, we stay out of jail and find delight in the tiniest of minutia. We may be spinning towards something, or not. We don’t know yet.

When it all makes sense, maybe it will be good.
And we will be satisfied.
And we will be happy.
Maybe this all culminates in some giant crescendo of understanding.