Does everything have to mean something?

Some say everything happens for a reason,

And perhaps they’re right,

But I can’t help thinking it’s just a way to hide their fright.

The fear that all life is, is chaos incarnate,

That all we do is stave off that date

With death or life or tragedy or joy.

We fear it’s all just unravelling before us.

We’re all just on a universal tour bus,

And it’s taking us to the dark landmarks of our lives.


Other people say that nothing means a thing,

And that answer seems like something’s missing.

If nothing means a thing, we’re all just a ding in the universe

Which seems pretty likely, but still.

The human world has been defined by thought.

We refused to rot.

We refused to stay the same.

We learned that life could be bought.

By the sweat off brow, tilled field, and hard rain.

I can’t believe we’d do such things,

Build skyscrapers and mansions and spend years to learn to sing,

If nothing means a thing.


I think there’s a third answer.

I don’t think that everything happens for a reason.

There seems no reason for that.

But I do think that we find a reason for everything to happen.

Without our minds to shape our lives,

We would be beings without the rise

That we’ve felt

That we’ve done

Everything perhaps is chaos,

But chaos, by its definition, is unfathomable

And I’d rather be able

To think through my problems than blame it on fate

However uncomfortable it is to state

That my life is in my hands

As much as in random chance.


Nothing happens for a reason.

But nothing is without meaning.

Everything is the meaning we find,

And that, at least, is decent.


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