Orderliness

Look at those boats; in a neat file, tethered tight to the shore.

When I was younger, I had a vivid thought. I thought, what if everything in the world was orderly? If pencils were to drop below the desk and roll away a little, what if everybody in class dropped their pencils at the same time? What if everybody bent down at once to find their pencils? The synchrony, the concordance! What charm such orderliness would hold!

I rushed to my mother to share my idea for the world, for what would make everything perfectly principled. She looked at me as if I was broken a little, as if I needed mending. She cocked her head to one side. If everything happened to everyone always at the same time, where is the joy and drama of life, she seemed to ask me.

I look again at these boats. How they bob up and down in those little waves, each wave different from the last. How each tug, even if just by a tiny, tiny bit, pushes the boat to the shore, or draws it the sea. Look at these boats.