Thoughts on Growing Up

Is There Significance In Everything?


Is there significance in everything? I seem to think so. I could find a metaphor in the grounds of my coffee. I am no good at 2am bar hopping because all I want to do is stare at people’s interactions until I have dissected why they drink with their left hand and flirt with drunk men in salmon colored polos.  

I overwhelm myself with meaning. Digging in the soil reflects digging in my self awareness. Avoiding the dishes reflects my inability to be responsible and my lack of sensitivity. Rock climbing is a metaphor for letting go.  

Attempting to find no meaning in a situation leaves me feeling empty and shallow.  

The need for significance has lead me into scenarios of obsession over and over again.  

Perhaps this helps me write stories, knowing I have a message to deliver through my words. It also drives me and others crazy.  

At one point, I sat facing a roommate after a late night of drinking, animately explaining how everyone had a story and wondering why they would put themselves in bad places, I wanted to somehow help them see themselves.  

Mid-obsession he belted “Krisi! There is not a story to everything, some people just want to drink. Okay?!”  

He was wrong I thought, and hiding from himself, and I, being a deranged significance finder, believed It was my duty to expose his fear. [Insert head shaking here.]  

In high school, I remember feeling okay about having a boyfriend when we would have deep spiritual/philosophical discussions, but every other moment together seemed frivolous. Moments of physical closeness, conversations about movies or Harry Potter, all left me full of guilt.  


Being single felt/feels like the safest way to maintain purity, “guard my heart”, not compromise my ideals, and most honestly  

— get what I want, or at least the illusion of what I think I want.  

I am starting to wonder if my pursuit of significance is causing more harm than good? It has become an obsession which causes unrealistic expectations for the people who interact with me or attempt to date me.  

Like with anything, there has to be a balanced to strike between significance and shallowness.   

I have spent years measuring the strength of someones character by the amount of meaning they assign to people, books, potted plants etc.

Perhaps it’s time to sit back and breath. And see coffee grounds for what they are, compost. 

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *