I've Asked The Universe "Why Me" A Thousand Times

There’s something oddly poetic about time—it molds you, shapes you, and if you’re particularly lucky, turns you into someone who can laugh at the absurdity of it all.

You know how they say, “Time heals all wounds”? Well, in my case, time didn’t just heal—it gave me battle scars, a thicker skin, and an unexpectedly sharp sense of humor. Turns out, survival comes with perks, like being able to joke about things that once kept me up at night.

Let’s rewind a few years. Picture a younger version of me—gullible, naive, and taking life's hardships like a deer on an icy road, slipping and stumbling through every challenge with wide-eyed terror. Every difficulty felt like a gut punch, a personal attack from the universe itself. And trust me, I asked why me? enough times to qualify for an honorary degree in existential crisis studies.

I’d stare at the sky, shaking my fist at the universe, demanding answers. “Why not give some of these ‘growth opportunities’ to someone who looks like they’ve been coasting through life on easy mode? A little redistribution of suffering wouldn’t hurt!” But the universe, in its infuriating silence, just went on spinning, completely ignoring my very reasonable request.

Fast forward to today. I stand taller—not because life got easier, but because I learned to carry the weight differently. Hardships no longer feel like a personal attack; they’re more like a boot camp for resilience. And let’s be real—some of the best character development happens in the middle of chaos.

I won’t lie and say I don’t struggle anymore. Oh, I still have my “Why me?” moments. But now, I answer myself with, “Why not me?” If challenges are going to show up uninvited, I might as well make them regret picking me.

And here’s the thing—if the universe keeps throwing storms my way, I’ll just learn how to dance in the rain. Or at the very least, invest in a solid umbrella.

These days, when younger colleagues or friends come to me with their own “Why me?” dilemmas, I chuckle. I shake my head. And then, with the wisdom of someone who has tripped, fallen, and face-planted too many times to count, I tell them this:

Hardship is the universe’s peculiar way of saying, ‘I believe in your potential. Now prove me right.’

And when all else fails, laugh. Laugh at the absurdity, at the setbacks, at the fact that life has the comedic timing of a sitcom writer on caffeine. Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that humor is the best survival tool in this beautifully unpredictable, ridiculous, and strangely wonderful journey called life.