I have officially retired from asking life deep, philosophical questions. I’ve turned in my badge, my detective kit, and my torn copy of “The Meaning of It All.” Why? Because, at some point, I realized life isn’t a gentle wise teacher, patient guru on a mountaintop doing yoga. It’s more like a gym teacher from a 1980s movie who smokes cigarettes behind the bleachers and believes suffering builds character, their character, specifically, from laughing at us.

Life isn’t a gentle teacher. Let’s be clear on that. A gentle teacher sees your confusion and offers extra help… Life is that substitute teacher who spends the entire period mispronouncing your name, then throws a piece of chalk at your head for not paying close attention to a lesson it hasn’t even taught. And when you say, “I’m confused,” life squints, lights a cigarette, (against school policy)… takes a big puff and says, “Figure it out, kid. The test is already happening” all this while the cigarette smoke comes out of his nose and mouth.

There was a time where I’d stand at my parent’s 5th-floor balcony look at the stars and pose life big questions, and I mean it, BIG ones:
“Where am I going?”
“What is my purpose?”
“Why is this happening to me specifically?”

Life, being a bully and a malicious intern, decided to answer them, all at once. It didn’t send a manual or a guardian angel. It sent bills, a 25-minute hold with customer service, a text from my client that just said “Hey. Can you refund us?”, and a sudden, profound realization that my “purpose” might involve figuring out why the knees are making that sound. This wasn’t enlightenment; it was character development I did NOT sign up for. Ever since I shouted, “This is my year of restoration” at some an all-night prayer vigil, I saw many bad things my friend.

I learned the hard way that asking, “What else can go wrong?” is an invitation. A formal one. Printed on thick, cursed parchment. Life receives it, stamps it “URGENT,” and yells to the universe, “THEY’VE ORDERED THE DELUXE PAIN PACKAGE! BRING OUT THE TRAY OF MINOR, CONSECUTIVE INCONVENIENCES!” Suddenly, your phone was not charging 2-minutes before you head-out, it rains the moment you step outside, and you get a notification from Kenya Power that there will be a world-wide power-outage as they sort a transformer in Busia. “Since you asked so nicely…” Life whispers, as your battery percentage drops to 3%.

I have survived seasons where nothing was technically “wrong,” but nothing was working either. The kind of season where you’re not failing loudly, you’re failing politely. Quietly. Respectfully. With good manners. You’re showing up! You’re trying! But Progress has decided to “work from home” indefinitely, and its out-of-office reply just says, “See me in Q4…”

People love to say, “Everything happens for a reason!” And they’re right! Sometimes the reason is that the world is chaotic, understaffed, and running on a legacy operating system that no one understands. It’s not always a beautiful tapestry; sometimes it’s a tangled ball of yarn a cat fought and lost.

I also discovered that adulthood is mostly pretending you’re fine while Googling things like “How to fix your life without starting over” at 2:43 a.m.

There’s a phase where you stop asking for signs because the last sign you got stressed you out. Now you just want peace. Stability. Maybe one month where nothing dramatic happens, a supermarket cashier throwing your 40 bob receipt fells so personal, that you now just send up a white flag. You don’t want a sign. You want a ceasefire, and maybe just one month where the most dramatic thing that happens is you finish your yogurt before it expires.

I’ve reached a point where I don’t need big breakthroughs anymore. I need small mercies. I need divine intervention that looks like:

• A USB plug that goes in correctly on the first try.
• An email that doesn’t begin with “Per my last email…” or “Gentle reminder…”
• A week where my bank account doesn’t flinch when I log in, like I’ve caught it in a state of undress.
• One social interaction that doesn’t require me to explain my disappearance or perform the “I’m fine!” statements.

I’ve learned that growth isn’t always loud and breaking through finish lines. Sometimes, growth is the quiet power of choosing not to explain your peace. It’s resting without justifying it. It’s realizing you don’t owe everyone front-row tickets to your healing journey, especially the people who threw the tomatoes.

So no, I don’t have the answers. I don’t even have all the questions anymore. But I’m learning how to move gently, again. How to laugh in the middle of uncertainty. How to survive without hardening.

And if you’re in a season where nothing makes sense, just know, you’re not behind. You’re not cursed. You’re not broken.

You’re just being introduced to a version of yourself you haven’t met yet.

And honestly?
They seem stronger than you think.

If you’re going through a tough time, remember, you are not alone. There is hope for positive change. Share this episode with someone who might need it.

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Until next time, remember: the past may shape us, but it doesn’t define us. Let’s embrace the present and create a future filled with love, understanding, and growth.