When I was a child, I expected the world to make sense. Because I believed that, I saw reason. I saw patterns. I saw order.
The longer I live, the more those patterns look like chaos and randomness to me. Over the course of my adult life, I’ve had to throw away so many things I was taught as objective truth. The more of my certainty I’ve had to give up, the more fragile and scary life feels.
The uncertainty makes me feel disoriented. The feeling makes me long for the solidity of my previous certainty — but I can’t close my eyes to the chaos, because it appears to be the truth.