We keep looking for “the thing”. Something that will make us happy or explain why we’re miserable. A mysterious action or habit or new discovery that will make everything else fall into place. I keep thinking I’ll be able to define a part of myself I can pin everything else to. Scaffolding. The active ingredient of my person. Everything else is just there for filler.

Things without names, though. Things we don’t have words for. They may be just as important. Maybe even more so. The sand that falls in around all the rocks we know about. It’s begging for our attention.