Lately, I’ve been dropping things.
Yesterday, I dropped a cup. It chipped near the handle. It’s no longer perfect, but no matter; it still can be drunk from.
Earlier in the morning, I dropped my beloved Nook while trying to put it in its carrying case. This isn’t the first time I’ve dropped it, but it’s the first drop where it sustained more than simple minor scratches; the edge casing split off at the bottom. It still worked though.
Then, as I was moving stuff out of the refrigerator in my room in school, I dropped a jar of garlic bread spread. It chipped at the bottom and exposed the spread. What could I do? I threw the entire jar away.
Later, I was hoping that my dad could help me repair the Nook’s casing. But I hoped too much, and despite his best efforts the Nook was not made for home repair. Instead, the casing got even more warped and my microSD card cracked. I was in the middle of the Life of Pi.
What is clumsiness, but the worse tragedy? No one is happy. There is no evil at work, just a weak grip, and gravity. And gravity has nothing to gain from your broken things.
“But they’re just things.”
Maybe. But I break something, it also breaks a bit of me. I feel clumsy, stupid, hopeless. This careless dropping of things, does it reflect an inherent careless attitude towards everything in my life? Possessions, time, interpersonal relationships?
Maybe it’s a wake up call that I need to care more. Because this world is filled with fragile things. You don’t have to be intentional to hurt. You just need to stop caring and what matters will drop, from how high you brought it, and depending on how it lands, could go away with a scratch, or shatter into a million sad pieces.
I need to care more.