We want the whole universe to fit together like one big jigsaw puzzle: beautiful and complete; no missing pieces.

The idea is alluring, but it traps us in a limited and self-destructive way of thinking.

I propose the universe is more like a big, messy (still beautiful) pile of marbles.

Let’s play with some ideas.

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We humans love meaning. We piece things together by nature; connect dots instinctively; find stories compulsively. We've done it for millennia:

Brown hissing reptile. It's a snake—a dangerous one. They've killed family friends. This one could kill again. Avoid that little fucker.

We evolved to make connections like this—in cause-&-effect and categorical relationships—so efficiently that we're no longer aware we do it. We now simply walk around the world putting puzzle pieces together and creating stories.

That’s a tree. There’s a hipster. That guy’s a leech. Those folks always do that. It’s a dog-eat-dog world. Life is hard.

We no longer look for connections simply as a practical exercise. We need to find connections. We need to piece things together. We need things to make sense.

We now assume that there is always a connection. Everything must be catalogued and placed neatly where it belongs in the story. All of reality must fit together.

Story, story, story.

We’re addicted to meaning, and intolerant of chaos or randomness.

Nothing exists in isolation. Nothing can be taken at face-value. Nothing is seen simply as it is.

We get frustrated, anxious, and stressed when things don't make sense. We can't be at ease pieces of the story out of place.

It’s to the point where we hardly live in reality at all. We live among the stories we tell ourselves about what reality is like. We’ve taken one step away from what truly exists and isolated ourselves in the world within our minds.

Now might be the time for me to say, “Let’s abandon the stories! Let’s live in the moment! Let’s see this life for what it truly is—free of our addictions to “sense” and “meaning!” But that harsh, absolute, cold-turkey approach rarely works for addicts like us.

Instead, let’s assume we have to tell stories for now, and look at how we tell them. Let’s look at what our stories are made of. And if we’re going to keep telling them, can we find a healthier approach?

We default to a universe of puzzle pieces, each aspect of our world fitting snugly in its rightful place. We believe if we look very closely, we can figure out where everything belongs and how the bigger picture comes together. We believe there is one true story waiting to be revealed to us once we sort out the pieces.

Problems arise when we start to think we know the story. All our mental tics and cognitive biases kick in, and we start messing with the puzzle. We become so focused on the story we feel is true that we can no longer admit if two pieces just don't fit together. We would rather sand down the edges of one—or add an appendage to the other and make them fit, than simply declare them unrelated.

Think back in your life to a story you've told yourself. Maybe a co-worker was “out to get you.” They wanted to see you fail (maybe out of spite, jealousy, or competition). They went behind your back on something; they revealed a mistake you made; they applied for a promotion you were due for; they had lunch with your client. All those pieces come together to paint a sinister picture. With the assumption that there is one picture to be found—and we found it—we lock-in those moments. We then simply move on with our lives, the story accepted as fact.

And why wouldn’t we? The pieces fit.

But what if we’re wrong?

Being “wrong” seems impossible! Our issue is: we’re incapable of detangling the narrative we found. Once the pieces are snugly together, it’s so tough to move them. Sure, we might have filed them down by ignoring some details; we might have added an assumption or two to fill a gap and make stronger connections—but we forget all that once the picture is complete.

If we were—in a profound moment of insight—able to step away enough to question our story, we still face the challenge of deconstructing the puzzle, reshaping the pieces, reassembling them, and then re-examining the new picture.

That's a lot of work. It’s why we don’t often do it.

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But what if they aren't puzzle pieces at all. What if this universe isn't a big, clear, perfectly put together picture?

What if those moments are more like marbles—and the universe is simply a big, beautiful pile of those marbles?

Each is unique, fluid, and independent. Each is nuanced with depths of colour that shift with the light.

While we can group these marbles together by their shared traits, or line them up to create the meaning we crave, they're never locked down. A story made of marbles is always an experiment. We can always roll them around to create new pictures. We can play.

And, as we try to ease our addiction to stories, the marble serves us well. Unlike a puzzle piece—whose sole purpose is to be connected with other pieces—a marble is perfectly suited to be appreciated on its own. We can see the beauty in one marble. Whereas the puzzle piece is only ever seen as one part of a whole.

Now, if everything is marbles: free-flowing and chaotic—can there still be any “big meaning” in all of this? Could a God still have a plan? Or am I advocating a meaningless universe filled with pointless lives?

I’m actually not touching “big meaning” at all. All this business of “puzzles and marbles” is about our perception of meaning, which is unrelated to any sort of bigger meaning.

The nature of a greater plan or truth in the universe is beyond me. If there is one, I don’t think we’ll get it—not by arranging the tiny pieces we see in front of us, at least.

I only comment on my understanding (a human understanding) of meaning and stories—in the way we make sense of the world in front of us.

I mean only to shift our view of the stories we tell ourselves to erode some of the "perfection-of-fit" we incessantly seek. And maybe one day: to help us drop the search for meaning altogether every so often, so we can simply appreciate a moment—that one marble—for its own inherent beauty.