There is a joy that is possible
From simply being a part of something.
A joy that comes from being a co-creator.
A joy not dependent on the rewards or results
But from being on the playground
Dancing with the characters of your imagination,
Giving palpable faces and tangible feet
to the elusive visions of the heart.
Joy in the process.
In figuring out what you really have to say
And taking the time to say it well.
Not being caught up with ever-present insecurity
Nor hung up on the constant awareness of your own inadequacy,
But simply enjoying the act of making something.
They joy of dirty hands.