Broken Things

There are days I feel like a collector of broken Things.  I can be a bit of a broken Thing myself, but I think of it more as having a few dents that may slow me down.  They will buff out in time.  I know they are there, I’ve encountered them before and I know they are part of living-and don’t need to be permanent.

No, these broken Things that find their way to me never seem broken at first.  They seem strong and ready to play.  But if you listen to them, then you discover the springs that have come loose, hear the rattle in their clockwork, and you see that they are struggling.  Some admit they are broken, some don’t.  Some are in the process of putting their pieces right, others don’t think there is anything wrong with them, that moving at half speed, missing a wheel is just how they were made.

It is easy to care about broken Things, to eagerly watch them rebuild and quietly provide space in your own workshop so they can borrow your tools.  You hope that someday they will be shiny again, and go on to be whole and enjoy that.

But it can be frustrating as well.  Some Things insist they are repairing themselves, but in reality they are waiting to be repaired, expecting the universe to take care of them while putting in little or no effort.  They will go on about plans and dreams, but when the moments come to realize even the smallest of these, they put it off.  They speak of desire to create, to become more than they are, then sit in front of the television, complaining once again how they wish things were different.

Those are the Things I want to thump with a hammer to jostle the parts back in place.

But I have been unintentionally collecting broken Things for a long time now.  I have learned that either I don’t have a big enough hammer, or these broken Things simply like being broken as it makes them feel tragic.  Knowing they will not respect my workshop, they aren’t invited in.  They can sit in the parlor and have tea before they go back to wishing.  I want wonderful things for them, but I also want them to expend some energy in finding them.  That I cannot do for them, and won’t try.

I like the Things that have mended, like me.  We aren’t perfect, but we are interesting.  And we know our parts very, very well.