21.02 - Attachment
Hold it tight in your hands. The feel of the cold metal against your skin, the weight pulling down on your wrist. It has substance, a collection of parts designed and assembled somewhere beyond your understanding of this world. Somehow it came to you through a series of transactions, an exchange of currency, or a simple but meaningful handshake. But now it is yours.
You had no part in the creation, the breathing of life into this object that you have found great use and satisfaction with. But there's pride. There's attachment. It doesn't make any sense, but it's hard to imagine life now without this thing. You're given congratulations for this thing, as if somehow you were responsible for its existence.
That attachment is profound, confusing, irrational, yet somehow we accept and understand this act of emotional involvement with inanimate objects all around us.
For me. A hammer. Smooth steel head and shank, worn red handle. But the memories, the significance of this tool extends far beyond the shape and materials. Hundreds of tools line my garage, but to choose only one. This one. It signifies the start of a journey, the discovery of gifts, passion to create, to build, to shape and form the world around me. This hammer. So simple, so beautiful, so completely and utterly reliable. Attachment. It's not the thing, it's the memories. Not the materials, the emotions. Not the shape, but the way it moves my soul. I won't try to make sense of it because it doesn't. Just accept physical things that give shape to the intangible inside me.