By Amanda Knox

Shit happens. An illness. An earthquake. The mechanics of the cosmos aligned in such a way that produced not only my existence, but also everything—good, bad, and between—that happens to me.

I have no choice but to accept it, especially when I cannot explain, predict, or prevent it. A dog doesn’t choose to maul. A tree doesn’t decide to fall. There’s no use indulging in upset and cultivating opposition against what is unprovoked and unpredictable. A distinction between adulthood and childhood is the acceptance or rejection of this premise: shit happens. It’s the human condition.

The world is shrouded in a fog of invisible forces. Gravity, electromagnetism, but that’s not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about ghosts. There is a ghost between me and the tree, as I drive slowly and carefully through a forest. There is a ghost between me and the dog, as I survey its demeanor before approaching. Between me and the daily chocolate chip cookie is a ghost formed by my exposure to the evidence of a cause-and-affect relationship between excess sugar and diabetes and obesity. The ghosts are cautionary theories produced by my own mind, recognizing patterns in response to the invisible forces of the cosmos external to myself.

Another invisible force—the silver lining. When shit happens I am presented with an opportunity to look inward and, to meet the demands of a new and challenging situation, discover strengths that I hadn’t before been able or known to access. A person suffering a terminal disease may not survive the disease, but they may garner exceptional self-awareness, perspective, presence, focus... The ghost of their mortality may bring clarity, may in fact raise the veil between themselves and their life.

Even other people are their own kind of cosmic forces. It can be difficult to accept the consequences of another person’s choices in the way I may accept the consequences of Mt. Rainier erupting. The intelligence and compassion of people gives hope that we might avoid inflicting trauma upon each other. But then, shit happens. We make mistakes, we hurt each other, despite our best efforts. We aren’t always putting forth our best effort. And now, between you and your motorcycle is the ghost of a crash. Between you and your mother is the ghost of the words that cannot be unsaid. Between you and a new lover is the ghost of your former lover. Between you and your former lover is the ghost of what could have been. Between you and yourself is the ghost of your innocence. You are moved before you move.

I imagine a resemblance in the expansion of the universe, where dark matter and dark energy are such ghosts. They exist in theory to account for the otherwise inexplicable movement of all the visible matter and energy. As if haunted by the ghost of its violent origins, the universe is casting itself away from itself. That doesn’t seem intelligent or right, like a dog mauling a friendly hand, like a child rejecting the premise. Then again, because the universe is fleeing from itself, I exist. A silver lining.

I want to know what haunts me, that I may dictate how my ghosts influence me. I don’t want to be prejudiced, or bitter. I don’t want to bite the hand that feeds. I don’t want to flee. I want to be the type of person who gives the unknown a chance, and gives the painfully known another chance. But perhaps this desire is just another kind of ghost.