It’s the end of the year, and sure has been a year, hasn’t it?
I’m planning on doing some kind of look back at the past year in the next week, and this isn’t even the last drabble I’ll write for 2016. It just so happens that amor fati is the phrase I drew out of my vocabulary bingo this week, and it has me thinking about failure and success and reasons and excuses and every other little thing.
Anyway, here’s a drabble. I’ll let this one speak for itself.
(n.) Latin for ‘love of fate’
An attitude in which one believes all experiences are good or necessary.
People tell Eleanor that everything happens for a reason. She has to refrain from punching them.
One door closes, another opens, and she wants to slam each one in the face of everybody who tells her that her suffering is a lesson to be learned. Maybe it’s true; but to say that she’ll learn something is to imply that she somehow deserves each adversity.
Still, quietly, she clings to the idea. There is no promise of meaning, no guarantee that it will all be right in the end. It’s hope that keeps her going, and hope that gets her through.