Category: Life

Everything happens for a reason.

I was in an interesting conversation about this concept recently. Luckily, I was chatting with someone who agrees with me — so there was no awkward difference of opinion on the often sensitive topic of fate.

It’s not something I believe. Bad things happen. Really bad things happen. Horrible nightmares occur. That’s just the way it is. (Great things happen as well, but today I am dwelling on the bad. Good times will be covered in a later post — perhaps after I do some weeping to clear my head.)

The world can be a vicious place and it makes sense that as humans we want to make sense of the senseless. I understand the impulse.

It’s rooted in the belief that everything that happens — both good and bad — is part of a deity’s master plan.

I shudder to think what that master plan is. It’s not going rather well so far.

All we can do is try to learn from the bad hands we get dealt. But sometimes there’s no lesson to be learned.

Yeah, no lesson. But I won’t be writing a self-help book called “When Crap Happens and You Learn Nothing.”

It won’t sell. But it will be true.

Lileo. I like to pop into this store just for fun. And it’s plenty of fun until I take a look at the prices. Oh, I know full well that the items are expensive but that doesn’t stop me from fingering the fashions lovingly and turning over the price tags, only to be reminded, yet again, that I should have considered a more lucrative career path. Happiness be damned, I need raw Japanese denim covering my ass. But alas, I must settle for the cooked kind.

Okay, it’s true that I am no stranger to three-digit jeans. (I am not proud of my shallowness, but damn they look good.) In fact, I have a few pairs of almost identical jeans that cost far more than any sane person would pay. (Start rationalization/ But they were on sale and I really have a hard time finding jeans that fit well. /End rationalization.)

But high three-digits? No. Just, no. Do I want Naked and Famous jeans. Yes. But I also want to pay my mortgage and visit New York where I can ogle even more clothing I can’t afford.

Sometimes I do succumb and splurge on things I can’t live without. I own a butter-soft designer leather biker jacket that makes me feel almost as stylish as Gwyneth Paltrow. It’s stunning. It looks great on me. I love it. I often admire it in my closet.

But the stupidest thing? I rarely wear it. It’s almost like it’s too nice to put on. I wear my $39 jean jacket from Old Navy far more often. If anyone can explain to me why I do this, I am open to the answer.