This last week found me on the down and out, moping around with a hefty case of strep and enough self-pity that I totally could’ve thrown a sweet pity party, (complete with streamers and cake, because CAKE). On the bright side? I was literally hot blooded, (check it and see), because I actually had a fever of exactly 103. And don’t worry–the doctor totally didn’t think it was funny when I busted out the guitar riffs on the exam table.

But as I sat curled up over my heater vent, a make-shift blanket fort shielding me from the stupid balls-cold Denver weather and a cup of chicken broth at my feet, I was racking my brain for the lesson in all of this. What could I learn from feeling like total shit? From needing a day off work? From spending 8 solid hours watching all the Jack Ryan movies and lusting after young Harrison Ford?
 

I ran through the typical gamut of Big Life Lessons.

 
I’m tough enough. I can survive ANYTHING!
 
Being sick teaches resiliency!
 
I’m like a phoenix! I have to burn up only to be reborn from my ashes!
 
But seriously, I’m tough enough. I’m hacking up pus pockets. I can survive fucking anything.
 
The funny thing about us, as people, is that we’re always scrambling to justify our actions, and more importantly, our feelings. We’re always searching for a Big, Important Truth in everything that happens. Yet as the credits rolled on the last action movie and I tried my damnedest to reel in my crying, (complete with snot bubbles), it dawned on me–
 
The only lesson to be found amid the chills and the hurting and the moping?
 

Sometimes, there is no lesson.

 
And as much as we want some little nugget of wisdom that rings out across the land and probably makes people run along beaches with ribbons trailing behind them, sometimes? Things just are because they are.
 
No perfect Important Lesson. No clichéd saying that shows up on bumper stickers you can buy in gas stations across the Midwest. No perfect little package, wrapped in shiny paper and adorned with a bow that makes the hard parts easier.
 
And that’s totally okay.
 
Because when we stop frantically digging for some higher meaning, we’re able to feel our feeeeeelings. We’re able to let an indecent sigh escape when we sip that damn chicken broth that soothes our throat in a way that should be illegal. And we’re able to revel in the details of our lives that means we’re letting ourselves play–that we’re letting ourselves get messy.
 
Don’t cram your life into a neat little box. It needs to go to happy hour, to careen down really high water slides, and to bask in the sun and read erotica. (Because sex books, you guys.) But above all else?
 
Sometimes, your life just needs one motherloving sick day and the right to just BE.

What are your thoughts on all this? See also: What’s your favorite 80′s hair metal song?! (I’m not picky, you guys.) Talk to me in the comments!