Kintsugi

In life, there are a lot of things that can be bought with money. Some claim that money can’t buy happiness; I’ve always said ‘nobody was ever seen crying on the back of a jet ski’. Turns out, there are a lot of things that can be bought with money, though ‘happiness’ is rarely something you can buy off the rack at your local Wal-Mart…

…it’s usually found at Best Buy.

As a Dad, there’s a different type of currency that I’ve discovered in my journey as a parent. While Atlas has every possible comfort that money could buy – shy of two parents that can put aside their egos to make things work – he’s at a point in his life where he has yet to truly comprehend the value of a dollar. Atlas doesn’t know that the toys/experiences/items he wants cost money, nor is he old enough to conceptualize what money truly means.

In many cases, remembering this fact has saved me a lot of frustration; largely when I see him not eagerly shoveling expensive organic food into his mouth at dinner time…

For better or for better, Atlas sees the world around him through the eyes of a five year-old, and it’s a beautiful thing to witness, because he appreciates the things that many people gloss over in the busy-ness of their life.

He sees the birds, squirrels and wildlife playing outside – and loves it.

He loves staying at home and playing with Rocky; even choosing to go home to see ‘Rock’ over the offer of a playground or trampoline park.

He collects rocks at parks and playgrounds and saves them for his ‘collection’.

He twists gum wrappers into ‘tornadoes’ and offers them as a gift to me after I give him gum.

His unpolluted view of the world is something that many adults (including myself) can stop and learn from. Atlas doesn’t care who is in office, what’s happening on the other side of the world or what some influencer preaches is the next thing to buy – or avoid. Rather, his focus is on the here and now in his life.

Some might argue that his perception of reality isn’t based on ‘things that matter’ yet. To those people, I’d push back a bit; does it really matter what’s happening on the other side of the world when there are lizards to be caught in the back yard, or a fuzzy pomeranian that’s begging for a treat?

This weekend, I was battling a cold/flu bug during my time with Atlas. As a result, I did my best to keep him outdoors and away from my germs. In addition to feeling sick, I also ‘felt’ sick and it made parenting him far more difficult than usual, because I lacked the usual energy I have to keep up with him. Throughout the weekend, I reminded him that I wasn’t feeling well – but was doing my best. He seemed to understand.

On Saturday afternoon, I reached a point where I felt like I was going to fall over. I needed a break, desperately. What was the solution? Simple.

Mow the lawn.

“Atlas, go ahead and play outside while I cut the grass.”

Atlas didn’t want to play outside. He wanted to ‘help’ me cut the grass with a pair of garden shears. I gave him instructions about what grass to cut – as well as a stern warning not to cut off his fingers – and went to work on the lawn with our Ryobi.

As I was wrapping up the back yard, I noticed Atlas run inside the house. He returned holding a smal handheld vacuum cleaner and proceeded to vacuum up the grass clippings on the sidewalk.

“Dad, I’m helping!” he exclaimed.

I knew that his ‘help’ was going to clog the vacuum cleaner. Did I stop him? Absolutely not.

“Atlas, great idea! Keep on cleaning, and let me know if you’d like to use the blower!” I replied.

The vacuum cleaner got clogged. However, he had a big grin of satisfaction on his face once it stopped working and I blew the remaining grass into the yard with the blower.

This afternoon, I got to work unclogging the vacuum and cleaning out the filter. As I was taking the vacuum apart, all I could think about was the joy that he experienced in the moment he clogged it. I wasn’t upset that he used a vacuum cleaner to clean up grass, as much as I was delighted that he knew where to find the vacuum in the first place to clean up a mess.

Every part of cleaning the vacuum cleaner brought me joy. Was it ‘convenient’ to do so? Absolutely not. Was it worth it?

Absolutely.

At another point in the weekend, I got a phone call from a family member and Atlas decided to crawl on top of the kitchen island to ‘play’ with his hermit crabs. Juggling the call while urging him not to dump out their food onto the sand brought up a sense of overwhelm. The next thing I knew, I heard crunching sound.

I stepped on the mussell shell I brought him back from California. My heart sunk.

“Mom, I’ve gotta go. I’m doing too many things right now.” I explained, before hanging up the phone.

“Atlas, I have bad news. I accidentally stepped on your shell.”

He gave me a look that I won’t ever forget. He wasn’t upset or angry. Rather, he was sad. Sincerely sad to see that his shell was now in 7-8 pieces; the one I brought back as a trophy for him on my trip. I explained to him that it was an accident, and he seemed to understand. Scooping up the pieces, I put them on the window sill by the kitchen sink.

This evening, while on a phone call with my Mom, I decided that it was time to see if the shell could be repaired with superglue. While she and I spoke, I carefully put the shell back together, one piece at a time. As I write this, it’s drying.

To an adult, the shell doesn’t ‘matter’ as much as ‘real world’ events or what’s happening on the news. To a child, that shell represented something that money can’t buy; a thoughtful gesture from his Dad.

Over the years, I’ve spent a small fortune buying Atlas ‘things’ that have put a smile on his face; from musical instruments to fancy electronic gadgets and outdoor toys. In each instance, I’ve been excited to present him with the latest ‘prize’ (he can’t say ‘surprise’ yet) when I see him.

Of all of these ‘prizes’ I’ve given him, I’ve never been more excited to present him with the shell that’s been glued back together, and I’m counting down the minutes until I present it back to him.

The Japanese have a beautiful practice called ‘Kintsugi’ which is the art of repairing broken vases with a laquer that’s been coated with gold. They treat this as an art form, showing the value and treasure in repairing something that’s been broken, rather than discarding it.

When I look at my life, I can’t help but look at it through the filter of the experience that I had with the reparation of the shell – or the joy I experienced by letting Atlas ‘help’ clean up the grass clippings. Have things been perfect or done the way they were ‘supposed to’ go? Absolutely not.

Was there a lesson to learn through every twist, turn and broken ‘shell’ I’ve stepped on in my life? Absolutely.

As I was inspecting the glued-together shell between writing this blog, I couldn’t help but notice God telling me:

“Aaron, I can’t wait to show you the broken pieces I’m putting back together for you.”