Every day my daughter worries when what she thinks
are weird thoughts enter her head; I worry when what
I know are weird thoughts don’t enter mine. When
the beautiful confusion of dreams becomes a stranger
to my waking hours I start to panic. All the wrong
objects collide in my mind, the corners of my brain
that should be speaking turn silent, and all the solemn
points of contemplation and vision are filled with noise
and corruption. I tell my daughter that everything that isn’t
at least a little peculiar is also boring, that any thought
that doesn’t also make us worry probably isn’t worth thinking
about. Then I add this: stay away from people who are happy
all the time, chances are they’re on the wrong medication.
The people who are truly interesting are as interesting
in a fast car as they are in a bare room with just a pitcher
of water and two plastic cups—just keep drinking and stay out
of the car. The secret life of people like us is a history of crazy
moments that wake us, the serene stillness that follows them,
and the sometimes slow, sometimes quick work afterwards
that leads to wisdom. When my daughter gets out of the car
in the morning to go to school she always asks, “Will I do
anything weird? Will I say anything weird?” and I always say
“No.” But the day will come when I can say, “Yes, you will
do something weird, and the wiser ones among us will appreciate it
and remember it,” and we go home and pour our coffee,
hers decaffeinated, into stained porcelain cups, add a lot of cream
and a lot of sugar as we warm ourselves from the inside out,
all caught up in the joy and comfort of our perilous thoughts.

-Jose Padua

Photo by Jose Padua