There’s a saying I often hear —“Everything happens for a reason.” It’s usually delivered by well-meaning folks when you’re in the middle of a complete life upheaval and barely holding it together with caffeine and denial. At those times, it sounds more like a taunt than a comfort. “Oh really? Everything? Even the parking ticket I got after I overslept because of that late-night work crisis?” Yup, even that. But what if there’s a kernel of truth in that overused phrase?

I do like the other similar phrase of “everything can have a purpose if you allow it.”

This past year has been a whirlwind—one of those years where you don’t know whether to laugh or cry, so you end up doing both at once, like a maniacal hyena. There’s been loss, change, unexpected events, and the oddest twists in the road. But every now and then, in those moments of stillness between the chaos, I’ve started to wonder: what if all these crazy events do have a purpose? What if, instead of letting them bulldoze me, I lean into them and ask, “Okay, what are you trying to tell me?”

Purpose can be elusive, like that one sock that disappears from the laundry no matter how closely you keep an eye on it. Sometimes it feels like there’s no rhyme or reason—just randomness. But what if we made purpose, like those DIY enthusiasts who look at a rusty pipe and see an avant-garde lamp, rather than just a piece of junk? What if every little event—both the good and the gut-punching—can be shaped, molded, and turned into something that propels us forward?

I know, it’s a tall order. Especially when you’re bruised, battered, and just tired of “lessons.” But purpose isn’t necessarily about having a grand revelation every time you trip over life’s hurdles. It’s about the act of reflection, of looking back and asking, “What can I take from this?” Maybe a professional setback made me reevaluate what I really want to be doing. Maybe that grating encounter at the grocery store (yes, even that) taught me to breathe through irritation. And perhaps the loss of something dear reminded me to treasure what’s still present.

It’s not about finding a cosmic reason for every mishap, but allowing everything—every step, every stumble—to be infused with your meaning. Purpose is a stubborn seedling. It sometimes needs a lot of muck to grow in. It’s a reminder that there’s no such thing as wasted time or meaningless mistakes if you let them nudge you, however gently or forcefully, towards something better.

It’s not a passive acceptance, either. You have to tussle with the concept, wrestle it into something useful. I’ve found myself sitting with a mug of too-strong coffee, replaying the year’s events like a highlight reel of lowlights, and thinking: what’s my takeaway? Because if I don’t find purpose in this mess, I’ll just be left with, well, a mess. And I’ve come to realize that reflection isn’t about discovering that every event was a blessing in disguise (because some events are just, plainly, terrible), but about choosing to grow from it despite the scars.

So maybe I can look at this year not as a relentless series of unfortunate events, but as a chaotic classroom where I’m learning resilience, humor, and just how far I can stretch without snapping. Maybe I can take those curveballs and not just dodge them, but make them part of my own game plan—one where everything can have a purpose if I’m willing to give it one.

And when I can’t quite see that purpose in the present, I’ll chalk it up to my future self to make sense of it later. Because the beautiful thing about purpose is that it’s not something handed to you—it’s something you shape. And who knew? Maybe that’s the biggest lesson of all.