Trinket

Shoot. There are words there. I have three subjects I want to write on. On Being Busy. On Children. On Infinite Hope. On Signs and Symbols. Shoot. That's four. Truth. I'm inebriated (as the fancy folk say). And I'm exhausted. I worked 5AM to 5PM. Came home and cooked. I hope I took a shower. I may have taken one during a Zoom call. New headphones, they're sporty and water resistant. Eg., compatible with a lifestyle that involves Zoom. And showers. Lovely. Honestly. It was an interesting experience to treat my ear as if it had a cast. Tip it away from the water. Keep it dry. It's okay if a droplet gets on it. But also not. Anxiety being what it is. Shower Zooms. Is that a thing? Shower beer. Yes. Shower Zoom? Possible, but the jury is still out. Showering. I know that many of you out there work the dreaded 12's as a day to day consistency. If I'm to give myself a breath of grace I should count travel. 13. 13 hours. From 430 to 1800. Okay fine. It took an hour to drive home. I can say the thing that comedians say as a hook every night. Don't you just hate traffic? Where was I... On something. Not on top of the world, that would be lovely. On Truth. The truth is, my job is okay. It's not satisfying. I want to make indie games for my kids. That's it. That's my aspiration. That's my magnanimity. There is no greater joy in my life, then when my daughter presses a button I programmed. And her face alights with delight. Not a happier moment. Is that sad? I hope not. I am the epitome of failure in so many aspects of my life. Though I understand that may be the harsh introspectionist, it is my truth. The one I struggle to change. The story I struggle to rewrite. All other stories pale in comparison to the one we tell ourselves. The story of who we are. I struggle. But not in that moment. Not in the simple moment when she has the joy of playing. Of interacting with something her father made for her. With her in mind. It seems so limited when I look at the code. It seems so limited when I test the movements. But when she plays. It opens wild. Into Story that I hadn't written. Story I hadn't conceived. Nothing can prepare me for what she decides it becomes. To take a wild Tangent into the unknown. Into what I was going to write. Montessori was right. Children are the key to being an adult. They bring us back to being a child. They restore that purity within us. Truth. We are adults without them. We do exist separate. But it is the ship lost at sea. The aimless see with neither chart nor sextant. They are the lighthouse keepers. They blare the siren and shine the light. As bright as their frolicking hearts must do in every moment of their life. With abandon they pull at levers and light lanterns along the shore. With glee they sprint about the lighting endless number of bonfires. For they are there, and must be lit. We realize then that they are why we return ashore. They are why we cast off. They are why we are intrepid. Why we explore the shores unknown. To return back. With that sparse trinket. A trinket in our eyes that is only a trinket. Truly, a meaningless thing. But we know. When they see it. When they alight upon it. Fire. Burning through our meager attempts at play. Fire, creating a new thing out of dust. What was once a trinket becomes a treasure. For that sparkle in her eye, I cast off once more. Into dark waters. Into dangers. Into any number of fabled land. If only to return with some trinket.