Oh- God- -

The Weight of Two Little Words: “Oh, God…”

That is where “Oh, God” lives. It is the linguistic equivalent of grabbing the handrail on a roller coaster you didn’t consent to ride.

Think about it. You never say “Oh, God” when you are winning. You say it when you are losing, when you are surprised, or when you are in awe. It is the language of the human limit. And reaching your limit is often the prerequisite for a breakthrough. Oh- God-

If you are an atheist, a skeptic, or a “spiritual but not religious” person, you have still said it. When the car hydroplanes on the highway, you don’t shout, “Oh, secular humanism, help me now!”

Here is the strange comfort I have found in the phrase “Oh, God.” The Weight of Two Little Words: “Oh, God…”

There is a phrase so universal, so instinctual, that it transcends language, religion, and culture. It lives in the space between a whisper and a scream. It is the prayer of the agnostic and the gasp of the believer. It is the three-second novel of the human experience: “Oh, God.”

Because “Oh, God” isn’t a curse. It isn’t even really a prayer. You never say “Oh, God” when you are winning

So go ahead. Take a deep breath.