My four-year-old was sitting on the floor, his broken toy truck spread out in front of him. He had somehow found a child-safe screwdriver and was determined to fix it himself.
He was deeply focused. His tongue sticking out slightly in concentration. Tiny hands manipulating the tool with surprising precision.
I was watching him from the couch, and it hit me: he was completely in the moment. No anxiety about what might go wrong. No worry about whether he'd succeed. Just the pure, uncomplicated pleasure of trying.
Meanwhile, my brain was doing its usual thing: running through a mental checklist of everything that could possibly go wrong today, this week, this year. The mortgage. My aging parents. My kid's upcoming school registration. That weird noise my car started making.
I thought I was being responsible. But watching my son, I realized I was just being anxious.
There's a difference between productive planning and wasteful worrying. I've gotten so good at the second that I've forgotten how to do the first without the emotional tax.
My son didn't fix the truck. After twenty minutes, he handed it to me with a sigh. "Mama, can you help?"
I fixed it in thirty seconds. He cheered like I'd performed a miracle.
And I thought: maybe the real problem to fix isn't the broken things around us. It's the broken relationship we have with uncertainty.
My son taught me something on that living room floor. I'm still learning it.