Dirty hands

There is a joy that is possible

From simply being a part of something.

A joy that comes from being a co-creator.

A contributor.

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.

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