Legendary Texas writer John Graves died recently. I’m reading his book Goodbye to a River: a Narrative (Vintage Departures). In it, he describes his last trip down the Upper Middle Brazos River, a place that had “meaning for [him] during a good part of [his] life in the way that pieces of rivers can have meaning. You can comprehend a piece of river.” In it, he describes a man he meets on the river, Old Man Willett, “tiny and wizened and old in bib overalls.” After telling Graves about his life, which was full of hardship (though “his manner in telling it was all factual . . . he had a dry narrow dignity that did not ask for sympathy”), Old Man Willett says:

“A man needs it hard. I don’t give a crap. He’d ought to have it hard a-growin’ up, and hard a-learnin’ his work, and hard a-gittin’ a wife and feedin’ his kids and gittin’ rich, if he’s gonna git rich. All of it.”

Graves replies, “Appreciates it better, maybe.”

“Does it better,” Old Man Willett says.

I like Old Man Willett. He reminds me that hardship sharpens our skills. It shows us what to avoid. It makes us better at what we do.

I’ve never liked the saying, “Everything happens for a reason.” I view it as (1) false, and (2) a shortcut—a bypass, if you will, around a difficult circumstance that deserves to be thought about, considered, experienced, waded through. But maybe those who declare “Everything happens for a reason” have something in common with Old Man Willett—a recognition of the value of hardship.