a knock on the door

There was a knock on my door.

I almost didn’t get it—hello, anxiety, my old friend—but you never know when the Amazon delivery driver is being just a bit over-zealous so, despite my misgivings, I answered.

It was two girls—sisters, presumably—going door-to-door selling handmade bracelets of the beaded variety you often see sold as souvenirs in the tropics. The kind held together by a flimsy elastic that, if you’re lucky, manages to hold until the end of your vacation before it snaps. I swear… those bracelets are the jewellery equivalent of a fruit fly, so short is their life cycle. But, hey—gotta assuage that white guilt somehow, right?

Anyway—the girls at my door were quite charming. Seasoned enough to possess the confidence to knock on a stranger’s door, but not yet so old as to have entered that dreaded teenage phase we all know and love. Their sales pitch was delivered in that stilted, staccato rhythm so common to youngsters who haven’t quite come into their own just yet but who are, nevertheless, practically overflowing with enthusiasm.

The bracelets were piled into an old Tupperware container so they had to spill them out onto the floor to show them off. There were dozens in total. Each one made distinct by the unique arrangement and colour of its beads.

Buuut: it’s 2024 and I’m in my early thirties—the only time I carry cash, ironically, is when I’m on vacation.

These girls simply had the misfortune of catching me in my own home, rather than walking the sandy shoreline of a beach somewhere sunny.

I wanted to do them a solid—I really did. To my mind, they had shown great gumption and guile. And they had earned a reward for their efforts, as far as I was concerned. And besides, two bucks is a cheap price to pay for making a kid’s day. It’s what I would have wanted when I was in their shoes. Assuming some parallel universe exists where I am not such an anxious mess and can actually talk to strangers.

But, cashless, I wished them good luck and sent them away empty-handed.

Wait… there’s no chance they would take an e-transfer, would they? I wondered as I closed the door.

I was about to move on and get on with my day…

… when I remembered the old piggy bank that has sat idly on one of my bookshelves these last few years…

Maybe there was still a coin or two in there?!

And sure enough, that old blue ceramic pig with “New Car Fund” engraved on its side jingled like a set of Christmas bells when I shook it. It was at least half full. The coins almost sounded like waves rolling back and forth, as if I had deposited a tiny ocean for safekeeping.

Just as the girls had dumped the bracelets onto the hallway floor, I was now shaking the piggy bank this way and that, at first coaxing out just a trickle of coins, and then watching as a veritable torrent tumbled out.

Naturally, most of ‘em were pennies, nickels, and dimes—nothing I was interested in, so I hastily brushed them aside. But there were a few loonies and toonies mixed into the bunch. I grabbed a pair of the former, added one of the latter for good measure, and ducked my head back out into the hallway, to see if the girls were still hanging around.

As luck would have it, they were. I spied them sitting on the ground a few doors down, showing their wares to another resident. I watched as they struck out once again, but before they could venture any further, I called out and waved them back.

They giggled with glee as they bounded down the hallway, frequently shedding bracelets in their excitement, which they had to stop and re-collect as they went.

When they finally made it back to me, I instantly thought of k—who has been gone all week for work and has scarcely left my thoughts—so I asked them to pick out their prettiest pink bracelet for me (one of her favourite colours). The younger of the two pulled a bracelet from her own wrist and held it out to me.

“This one’s my favourite,” she said, dangling it before me on the end of an outstretched finger.

“You sure?” I asked doubtfully, receiving a quick nod in reply.

“Don’t worry, we can make another,” the older girl (sister?) assured me.

Somewhat mollified that I was not robbing a child of a precious keepsake, I asked how much they wanted for the trinket. It was a simple design, and not particularly “pretty” if I’m honest, but its thick, cylindrical beads, which were interspersed with brass-coloured metal balls, were a brilliant, vibrant pink. Perhaps a bit too “loud” for my naturally shy fiancée but, hey, they had more or less filled the bill.

“A dollar,” the young one said.

That seemed fair enough, but I had sent them away and then called them back—so I handed her the toonie and thanked them both for their hard work, wishing them nothing but success in their venture.

Not two seconds after I had closed my door, I heard one of them exclaim, “Yes! Our first one! Come on, let’s keep going.”

They scampered off after that to parts unknown.

They went on, I presume, to bigger and better things. At least, that’s my wish for them. As one artist to another. The world’s a big place, after all, and it can feel hostile and scary. Especially when you’re small. And doubly so when you’re trying to build something beautiful.

Sometimes it can feel like everybody only wants to tear things down. And it takes real courage to stand up, stand apart, and be convicted to create, not destroy.

So… is my new hot pink bracelet a thing of pure, unbridled beauty?

Well, no. Not really.

I can’t imagine it would make me the envy of Paris Fashion Week.

But I would say that it now possesses something far more meaningful than beauty…

Sentimental value.

It has become a talisman; a symbol; an icon. One of many charms I surround myself with in order to produce creatively. It has joined an array of totems that I use to tap into that inner world that makes my writing a reality. As a work of art, it inspires. And as a reminder of my own humanity, it warms me to the possibility that I’m not as wretchedly dreadful as I fear.

Which tells me that what really matters about one’s art isn't whether it’s “beautiful” or not but how it makes us feel. Meaning outweighs majesty.

Now isn’t that a beautiful thought?

All-in-all… turns out I got a pretty decent return for my $2, huh? (“And in this economy… !!”)

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Thanks for reading!

Until next time,

Be well, and stay on the Path, my friends!

c.d.