Broken Things

I dropped my laptop on the ground tonight. It’s barely over a year old, my Macbook Pro.

I was getting out of the car, and grabbed onto my backpack, when it slipped out and onto the sidewalk. I heard the thud before I realize what had happened and saw it there . . . on the ground. The laptop I had spent months researching.

I quickly picked it up and assessed the damage. The corner of it was busted and open, but the rest of it seemed to be fine. I quickly scampered into the house, pretending nothing had happened and that I had meant to play bouncy ball with the most expensive thing I own.

“It’s going to be okay. It’s going to be okay. It’s going to be okay,” I said to myself. My computer turned on, so that was good. I started to browse Google like I normally do, all tucked into a blanket on my quilted maroon bedspread.

And, you know what? The dent right beneath my vibrant LED screen is really growing on me. It’s not perfect. I am not writing you these words on a perfectly symmetrical device. It is a little crooked and there’s an imprint of cement on the right corner.

The right side of my computer now flops on the bottom and will need to be screwed back on again, and it’s slightly skewed where the HDMI cord normally goes. Strangely, somehow, I think I like my computer more now. It’s got character.

Before, it was just that thing I bought at the store, all new and shiny and perfect. All things I am not. Now, it’s relatable. It’s been around the block a little. It’s a survivor.

I’m sure you are sitting there right now and thinking that I am taking this computer business a little too seriously. But, what if I’m not? What if the things we value and surround ourselves with matter? What if surrounding ourselves with imperfect things helps us learn to love things that aren’t?

We learn to love people that will never fit into the perfectly symmetrical boxes we’ve emptied. We’ve got all these empty places in our hearts and we keep waiting for the perfect fit, when there’s no such thing.

We’re all a bunch of banged up computers, waiting for someone to pick us up and decide to write with us anyway.

Tonight, I picked up my newly dented computer, expecting to like it less. And, instead, I somehow liked it more. It’s just a little broken, just like me.