I used to believe, up until about an hour ago, that everything happens for a reason.
I was pondering this belief while taking a long drive. And, as anybody who knows me knows, my long drives lead to many pit stops. It was at one of these pit stops, with this internal debate still waging quietly, where I found evidence (or lack there of) to disavow my belief. Here is how the event unfolded:
I, driving my lovely, silver, old ladies’ car that properly represents the crotchety young man I am, pull into a gas station/convenience store. Choosing a parking spot I drive at adequate speed towards it when I realize that the space has a full glass bottle of some sporty tea drink lying on its side within the yellow lines. Easily, I avoid this bottle as I park, but I realize that on the exiting journey I might accidentally back over it, so I decide it is necessary to dispose of said potential trouble maker.
I exit my car and immediately get on my belly and reach below the hot metal for the cold bottle. Somewhat awkwardly I grab the bottle and pull it out. I rise from the ground, bottle in hand, and begin my cool guy walk towards the entrance. Clearly I see a trash receptacle, but no recycling bin. Being a man who believes himself not ignorant, I realize this glass bottle will end up in that trash can sooner or later, so I decide to be un-environmentally upfront as opposed to leaving the sporty tea drink near the trash hoping in the mean time that a recycling truck will show up, driven by Al Gore, who will exclaim, “A recyclable,” and properly take care of the wasted item.
Let us now cut the story to inside, where a young, relatively attractive girl is working at the counter and apparently watching the soon-to-be excitement outside.
The tall, dark, handsome stranger nears the front door. With the windows starting so high, I can only see his chest of rippling pectorals and his comforting biceps. The beautiful figure makes a brief move towards the trash can. A movement that starts out so slight and barely noticeable, as if he is so incredibly cool that Mother Nature herself will not allow his sexy, wind-swept, seemingly slow-motion strut interruption. Suddenly a shocked look streaks across those exhilarating eyes.
Then he proceeds to do some sort of spastic monkey dance as his head looks in many directions, possibly trying to share some goofy laugh or potentially to spot any who would mock him for something that I cannot see. After a moment of continued standing seizure, he continues on his path to the door. Quickly, however, he stops and looks down, as if examining the bottom of his shoe for bugs or dog excrement. Then, once again, he continues to the door. Only now he has lost the strut and is dragging his back leg as if he were Igor looking for his beloved Dr. Frankenstein.
Now we return to my side of the tale.
I enter the convenient store to see a young, relatively attractive girl looking at me with an expression that has somehow managed to combine confusion, fear, laughter, a little more fear and a deep longing to buy me some nicer clothes. “What happened?” she questions with slight amusement in her sweet voice.
And now I quote myself verbatim: “Well, I was pulling into the parking spot and there was a full glass bottle there so I parked my car and then crawled under to pick it up so I didn’t back over it. I had it and was walking over to throw it out, but somehow, from a mere half a foot away, I managed to miss the big hole at the front of the trash can so the bottle bounced back at me and then shattered on the ground all around my feet and words cannot describe the amount of suave-ness I am feeling right now.”
The girl laughed and asked me if she should go clean it up. Not being a manager (or even a fellow employee for that matter), but thinking it was a good idea, which I would have done myself had I not had to pee so incredibly badly, I said, “probably.”
So she got the broom and headed up front. I continued on the journey to the urinal.
I came back out while she was still cleaning it up. I apologized again, but she gave me a relatively attractive smile and told me it was no problem at all. This was, apparently, not a rare occasion for her to have to pick up after goofy bastards like me.
So I got in my car and left.
How does this story relate in anyway to the first two paragraphs of this blog? Well, if everything happens for a reason, then what was my reason for breaking that bottle?
Could it be that I am moving soon to a place where I will need to be more social and this was an event that proved I could talk, even though embarrassed, to a relatively attractive complete stranger? Or was it simply to give me the vehicle to compose this piece?
Or maybe it was a reason that was not about me. Was the girl about to snap and destroy the Hostess’ or Hershey’s rack until I brought a little bit of humor to her day? Was she going to walk back to the dumpster with that broken glass and see a bird flying by which some how reminded her she needed to call her friend Abigail?
Or is it really that humans, a species with no self-confidence and a constant fear of what happens when we die, absolutely need there to be reason so that their lives aren’t truly just about masticating and procreating?
Essentially, does everything happen for a reason or do we just need to find reason in everything that happens.
Is finding a hidden reason in every day occurrences any different then those yahoos who find the image of Jesus in their stack of pancakes? Is it any different then those wackos who find the voice of ghosts hidden in static of audio recordings?
It seems to me that far more people believe in the theory that everything happens for a reason than believe in Flapjacks Jesus or EVP. But isn’t it all just the same thing? A desperate human need to prove that we are not mere mortals, but spirits who will live on, in heaven, in hell or in limbo. That there is some sort of higher power, be it a bearded man in the sky or some sort of unseen subatomic connection between all the Universe’s elements, that allows us to continue on past this life of skin and bones.
Though, when it comes down to it, it seems that there is an even more fundamental level to this. Might it not stretch to the scientist who has only a certain number of “facts,” but draws conclusions that become universal truth until 10, 20 or 100 years later when that theory is destroyed by the unveiling of new “facts?” When science is constantly groping for truth yet simultaneously disproving its own beloved beliefs, is that much different then the ever present search for God?
So, when it comes down to it, it is not just proof of everlasting, but an eternal search for some sort of knowledge. Because that is, after all, “what separates us from the animals.” Yet when we as a species cannot maintain a steady structure of knowledge, what is really known except the sun and the moon appear and disappear frequently and sex feels really good?
I am not saying we should give up and accept our fate as ignorant creatures who can play Nintendo Wii because of our opposable thumbs. We will obviously keep growing and creating and building and polluting until that asteroid falls from the sky or the super volcano explodes. I am simply saying that maybe we, as humans, should humble ourselves to admitting that we don’t know a damn thing about anything.
The only thing that we know is that we desperately need to know. But because we don’t our desire will keep driving the delusion that we see God in pancakes.
