It’s a little thing. A trinket that holds no significance to anyone but me. These days I handle it less and less. But I know it’s there. In the front pocket of my bag, ready if I need it.
Today, I do.
I pull it out of my bag and turn it over and over in my hand. Immediately, I can feel its magic. No one else would ever feel this power, in fact, I’m sure that almost anyone else would throw it out, never give it a second thought. Not me. It means so much to me that even the idea of it going missing breeds anxiety. It calms me, and in my newfound comfort, I take pause.
I think about the nature of faith. I need to believe in this for it to have meaning. For it to matter. Faith is something I’m running short of. No faith in humanity. No faith in the process. No faith in creativity. No faith in myself.
Yet, if I can produce enough faith to keep this insignificant piece of plastic charged with the kind of magic that gives back on command, then maybe, one day, I can change myself and the world in turn. One step at a time.
I pocket my trinket, lift my head up and look at the horizon, having received just enough energy to see out the rest of the day.