There Is Nothing Either Good or Bad, but Thinking Makes It So

From Shakespeare’s Hamlet comes a line that has echoed through centuries: “There is nothing either good or bad but thinking makes it so.”

This deceptively simple statement holds a universe of wisdom, inviting us to reflect deeply on the nature of experience and the role our perceptions play in shaping our reality.

When we strip away the judgments, the labels, the internal commentaries that we so often superimpose on the events of our lives, what remains is pure experience, neutral, waiting for us to assign it meaning.

But what does this really mean in the context of modern life?

How can we use this idea to navigate our personal journeys, especially when we encounter challenges, discomfort, or uncertainty?

Let’s explore this through practical wisdom and everyday situations, drawing on timeless advice for self-care, resilience, and finding our place in the world.

Consider the moments when someone’s behaviour bothers you — toward yourself or others. Instinctively, you might feel the urge to label that behaviour as “bad” or “wrong,” and your own reaction as “right” or “justified.”

Yet, the reality is far more nuanced.

What one person finds acceptable, another may not. The discomfort you feel is real, but it is your response, your thinking, that colours the event with judgment.

This doesn’t mean we shouldn’t speak up when we feel uncomfortable. In fact, expressing your discomfort with grace and calm is vital for healthy relationships and personal boundaries.

But the spirit in which you do so matters.

Recognize that your perspective is just that — yours.

Avoid sanctimony or righteousness, and instead, remain open to understanding that others may see things differently.

I want to share an experience of mine:

There are moments when life’s twists and turns seem to defy our expectations, teaching us lessons that only reveal themselves with the passage of time.

When my son stepped out of one relationship and, almost at once, entered another with a woman who had a 6-month-old child, I admit I struggled to understand his choices.

The transition felt sudden, and I worried about the complexities, the unknowns, how things would settle, how bonds would be forged.

Yet, with the benefit of years, I now see what my limited perspective could not: that life often weaves its richest tapestries from the unexpected.

My little step-grandson, once a quiet presence at family gatherings, gradually became my closest confidant and, in many ways, my heart’s companion.

At 30 years old, he has grown into a remarkable individual, kind, thoughtful, and successful beyond what I could have ever imagined.

Through him, I learned that love does not always follow the paths we mark out; sometimes, the relationships that come to mean the most to us arrive as surprises, gifts that we did not anticipate.

My son’s way was different from mine, but it was a way that led to joy, connection, and a new family.

The lesson is clear: keep your mind and heart open to what life brings, for its gifts may be hidden in the places you least expect.

When you stumble, make mistakes, or have a rough day, it is easy to slip into self-reproach. Yet, if Hamlet’s insight holds, then the feelings of guilt or regret that arise are not dictated solely by the events themselves, but by the stories we tell ourselves about them.

Instead of berating yourself for perceived failures, why not offer yourself the same kindness you would extend to a good friend? Console yourself, acknowledge your feelings, and ask whether your self-criticism is truly warranted.

Forgiveness, especially self-forgiveness, isn’t about excusing poor choices or avoiding accountability; it is about understanding that growth comes with imperfection.

Let me offer you another story, drawn from the ebb and flow of my own professional journey, a tale of success, restlessness, misstep, and, ultimately, forgiveness.

Years ago, I poured myself into building a business from the ground up.

Through determination, creativity, and a fair share of trial and error, the venture blossomed into something truly remarkable: robust, respected, and rewarding. Thirty years later, I sold my college, not just profitably, but with the satisfaction that comes from knowing I had done the job well, leaving behind a legacy that others could build upon.

Yet, as the dust of accomplishment settled, I found myself bored.

The challenge was gone, and I missed both the pulse of the marketplace and the thrill of creative problem-solving.

So, almost out of habit, I started another business in the same field. On paper, it made sense: a proven formula, familiar territory, and the promise of renewed excitement.

But as months turned into a year, a quiet realization dawned: this second venture was not what my spirit needed. The passion that fuelled my first success wasn’t there. The market had shifted, and so had I. What had once been exhilarating now felt forced and hollow.

After two years, I had to face a truth I’d been avoiding: my decision was not aligned with who I had become.

The Universe, in its mysterious wisdom, let me down gently. There was no dramatic failure, no spectacular collapse, just a gentle nudge to reconsider, to release my grip and move on. When closure finally arrived, I did not berate myself.

Instead, I practised self-forgiveness, acknowledging my human tendency to repeat patterns, even when they no longer serve. The lesson etched itself into my heart: boredom is not a reason to retrace old steps, and fulfillment requires listening to one’s deeper callings.

That chapter is now closed, but its wisdom remains vivid. I carry it with me, a quiet compass steering me away from repeating the same mistake.

Each misstep is a teacher if we let it be, and each act of forgiveness clears the path for better choices ahead.

Every person, yourself included, will occasionally say or do something that they immediately wish to take back. By reframing these moments as inevitable parts of the human journey, you relieve yourself of unnecessary suffering and open the door to learning.

The key, as Hamlet’s line suggests, is to notice the narratives you attach to your choices.

Is a quiet night a sign of failure to participate, or a well-earned moment of self-care? Is working hard noble, or is it a recipe for depletion?

The answer lies less in the activity itself than in how you perceive it and the intention behind it.

One of life’s enduring quests is to find where we belong, to discover the friends, colleagues, or communities with whom we truly connect.

Sometimes, old friendships drift apart, not out of malice or neglect, but because each person is growing, searching, sometimes needing to “shed old skins.” This is natural and not a reflection of your worth. Equally, when entering a new phase, whether it’s a different job, city, or stage of life, it may take time before you “click” with the right people.

Let me share an example from my own experience, a story about the shifting tides of friendship.

For fifty years, I treasured the company of a close friend. Ours was a friendship deeply intertwined with our marriages; countless dinners, shared holidays, laughter echoing late into the night as our partners talked just as easily as we did.

Then, unexpectedly, divorce came to her life, and with it, a rift neither of us had anticipated.

Because our connection had always included our spouses, her separation changed the chemistry of our gatherings.

My partner continued to see her former husband, their camaraderie undimmed, while I found myself adrift.

For the first time in half a century, there was distance between us, awkward silences, missed calls, invitations that never arrived.

I was devastated.

How could something so enduring become so fragile, seemingly overnight? The pain of loss was sharp, almost physical, as I mourned not only our friendship, but the years and memories that had shaped it.

Yet in time, I came to see that her withdrawal was not truly about me. She was grappling with her own pain, reconfiguring her world, seeking space to heal and redefine herself outside the boundaries of the “couple” we had all once been.

The wound was not personal, but circumstantial, a product of upheaval, not rejection. Recognising this did not erase my sadness, but it allowed me to release my resentment.

I could wish her well, remember our good times, and trust that both of us were learning new ways to be whole, even if that meant growing apart for a while.

In this, I learned that old friendships sometimes fade, not out of anger, but because the landscape of our lives changes.

And with compassion, for her and for myself, I could accept the evolving shape of our story.

The same holds for your sense of vocation or purpose. Some people stumble almost serendipitously into their dream job or calling; others need to experiment, learning what skills and challenges enliven them.

If you haven’t found your place yet, don’t despair. The absence of immediate “fit” is not a sign of failure, but part of the process.

When you encounter loneliness or uncertainty, remember: the experience itself is neutral. It is how you interpret it, whether as evidence of isolation or as an open space for possibility, that determines its meaning.

The best remedy for regret is not to dwell on what you cannot change, but to live now in a way that your future self will look back with pride and contentment.

Being present is a discipline, not a default; it requires attention to the moment, acceptance of what is, and gratitude for the experiences that shape you.

If we release the compulsion to judge every moment as “good” or “bad,” we create space for curiosity, learning, and joy. Life’s challenges become less about avoiding pain and more about growing through it.

No advice, however beautifully crafted, can protect us from all of life’s difficulties.

For over thirty years, Tarot has been my compass, guiding myself and others through the complexities of life and love.

The Wheel of Fortune, one of the deck’s most evocative cards, embodies life’s ceaseless cycles, reminding us that change is constant, destiny often shifts unexpectedly, and turning points bring opportunities for renewal.

Forces beyond our control may shape our journey, but by embracing flexibility and resilience, we can navigate fate’s twists with grace.

Ultimately, the Wheel teaches that what we give returns to us, and that by trusting in the flow of life and divine timing, we open ourselves to transformation, purpose, and the magic of new beginnings.

Each person’s path is uniquely their own, carved out by the lessons that only direct experience can teach.

But by cultivating the habit of nonjudgment, of noticing your thoughts and questioning whether the stories you attach to events are serving you, you build resilience and wisdom.

As you journey through life, try to observe your inner dialogue. When something happens, ask yourself: Is this truly bad, or am I exaggerating the situation? Is this good, or am I ascribing value where there is simply experience?

In pausing to reflect, you give yourself the gift of perspective.

“There is nothing either good or bad but thinking makes it so.” These words from Hamlet are an encouragement to live thoughtfully and with intention.

By recognising that our judgments shape our reality, we gain the freedom to choose new interpretations, to respond rather than react, to grow rather than remain stuck.

So as you move through your days, speaking up when needed, treating yourself with care, finding your balance, searching for your tribe, and savouring the present, remember that the meaning of each moment is, in large part, yours to decide.

In this way, you can navigate life’s complexities with grace, resilience, and an open heart.

Thank you for reading, dear friends. I love the wisdom of Shakespeare. Do you?

A Midsummer Night’s Dream: “Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind.”

The Merchant of Venice: “With mirth and laughter old wrinkles come.”

King John: “And oftentimes excusing of a fault doth make the fault the worse by the excuse.”

© Stephanie Roberts