A needle drags. Vibrating with determined practice to achieve a purpose it was made to fulfill. Yet it plays but a small role in the quality of its art. “How do you feel about this?” I ask the needle. Alas, it does not respond, leaving me to contemplate a place which one has no control over its effect on the outside world. And I wonder. I wonder just how different my life is from that of this helpless needle.
If I run around the world smiling, laughing, telling jokes, and offering kind words; then surely the world will become a happier place? Right? Yet, there may be some onlookers who become jealous of my joy. Those who are angry that I should be merry while they feel stuck and steeped in misery and pain of their horrid lives. Or, someone has pushed through the monotony of a workday and feels okay about themselves; until they see me frolicking around laughing at little nothings leading them to wonder what it is they haven’t done that they are simply average and they doubt the quality of their life because it’s not better, it is not what they picture my life to be. A foolish notion without question; for none know better than I how far short of extraordinary my life is, and yet I enjoy it.
So, I may not fully be able to control my effect on the world around me, but I can control my own thoughts and emotions. If I want to be happy, I simply choose what to think about… how about a puppy playing with a baby… Ha-Ha! Yes! It worked! I wanted to see a baby and a puppy and lo and behold an infant learning to walk starts to fall, but ole’ reliable (or young reliable since it’s a puppy?) is there to save the day with the flick of a snout and another step is made towards those scrumptious cookies! I wanted to be happy and look at me! I’m positively beaming! Again, I think of the needle so helpless of its work. It can’t choose its emotion. It is angry and red, blood like in hue. It is passive as a pale blue sky. Serene, green like a thousand-year-old forest. But this is not a choice, it was forced upon this thing that lives as a slave to a higher power. Surely then I am the superior being.
I return again to my vain and selfish thoughts. If I consider my friend, not just any friend, but the guy whose been with me through thick and thin. If I consider the seldom normal and frequently insane ideas that spew through my head and out my mouth in his direction; when most would walk away he smiles and says “okay”. There is no doubt in my mind that his happiness is my happiness. Then there’s this girl. Nothing I could say would be enough to explain how simply amazing this woman is, so I won’t try. Suffice it to say that I would do whatever I could to make her happy. And they get together. And both of these people who I want to be happy are VERY HAPPY! And I am very VERY… not. So I try to think of puppies and babies. I try again. Again. And yet. I can’t not think about them… and I feel like the needle with no control.
I wonder what atrocity the needle has performed to deserve a life where it has no say in its own movements. Perhaps it caused something to become mangled, bloody, and scarred? And now it must pay for its treachery with a life resembling that which it changed forever, for without question the state of it has deteriorated over the course of its work. I do not question that I have more control than the needle. Surely I can do better than it! I know I can! The needle stops dead, its life’s work complete. I look down and I see what it has done, the magnificent work of art it has created.