|Photo by Danica|
I was in the middle of an intense conversation, anxious and on the verge of tears, when I decided to step outside. There, on the porch, I found a bottle of bubbles. I dipped the wand, waited for the soap to settle, and started blowing magical spheres into the breeze.
The bubbles lifted, wandered, and found a place to land. Each disappeared with a pop.
So did my sadness.
That's when I decided to use bubbles as a tool for being in the moment.
Bubbles remind me to play. They remind me that this blown sphere I live on is also fragile and temporary - and full of wonder.
I've found out cloudy, humid days are better than sunny ones for making bubbles.
I've found out if you bring bubbles on a walk, your friend will spend several minutes attempting the perfect bubble and smiling.
It's a tiny act of creating, akin to the other creating I do. Acts of creation call forth beauty and enjoyment and take me away from my mostly self-made problems.
The top image by Danica captures the pure joy of children in Kampala, Uganda blowing bubbles.
What's your bubble story? Blow some bubbles. Describe them.
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