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Like unwrapping a present on
a special day, eager to
try on the garment or
use the toy, shiny
beautiful like you knew it would be
Yet there is that Fear
underlying, permeating:
What if I lose it?
What if I get it stained?
What if I break it,
from too much play, for it gives me such joy
that I cannot contain my pleasure
and therefore may ruin such a good thing.

One cannot surround their heart
or their mind with
the never-ceasing chatter of
the What Ifs and the Might Bes,
but I find that they are constant companions
uninvited, to be sure,
yet always there - guests who
try to eat all the food
use all the toothpaste
and steal all the sanity
until all I have left is a shell
of the initial joy I started with,
joy of this wonderful present
a present that has found its way
through my window
and into my heart.

Anger sets in, at myself
perhaps, or at my lack of control -
why must I control what is not
in my power to do so,
and what should just be allowed to BE
and like the tulip that grows overnight,
or Jack's Beanstalk -
if it grows exponentially beyond
ability to reign in,
if it's good,
then why fight it?

Indeed.

So I won't.

I'll unwrap my present
wear my garment
play with my toy
lose myself in abandon
give over to childlike wonder
for one cannot question the power
of a beautiful gift.