Our brains hate randomness.
They’re wired to make sense of things — to find patterns, explanations, and stories that help us feel safe in an unpredictable world. This instinct isn’t a flaw; it’s evolutionary design. Detecting patterns once helped us survive — to predict danger, find food, or spot threats before they happened. But in modern life, that same mechanism can backfire.
When things feel uncertain or chaotic, we start to search for meaning everywhere. We try to explain every silence, every coincidence, every delay. For those of us with perfectionistic or obsessive tendencies, this drive for control can become relentless. We organize, analyze, and overthink in an effort to turn the unpredictable into something we can manage. OCD, in many ways, is this process in overdrive — a mind trying to create order where none exists.
The irony is that our brains are not particularly good scientists. They make connections based on incomplete data, filling in gaps to maintain a sense of coherence. Psychology identifies these as cognitive distortions: such as confirmation bias, personalization, all-or-nothing thinking — mental shortcuts that make the random feel meaningful. These patterns can help us feel more in control, but they often lead us away from truth and toward anxiety.
Sometimes, things really are just random.
The person who gave you a dirty look.
The friend who didn’t text back.
The awkward silence.
The string of bad luck that makes you feel cursed.
Maybe none of it means anything. And that’s difficult for the mind to accept.
Accepting randomness challenges one of our deepest needs: the need for control and create predictability. Yet learning to tolerate uncertainty — what psychologists call uncertainty tolerance — is central to emotional health. When we stop demanding that every event carry meaning, we make room for peace and perspective.
So next time your mind rushes to interpret, pause.
Take a breath.
Ask yourself: What if this is just random?
You might find that letting go of the need to make sense of everything is, in itself, a kind of freedom.
