[The audio is the sound of my boys at play. It’ll make sense after you read on.]
I am in my office with the door open. The autumn sun casts everything with a magical amber glow and the pothos plants and baby succulents are stretched gracefully toward the light as I strain to see, to concentrate. I am constantly distracted by the heavenly scent of white musk emanating from a bottle of aromatic oil on my desk.
Some unknown allergen is irritating my eyes to near-blurriness, and I rattle off loathing words to myself, chiding my corporeal inadequacy, my lack of grind, my inability to will my eyes to remain focused.
And then there’s the noise. The boys and their Legos, the running dialogue as they dream worlds of transportation where planes and cars intersect with Star Wars. I can’t hear myself think—but the thoughts I have managed to produce have been mean to myself, and I wonder if I need to welcome the noise of play, rather than fight it.
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