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Knock. Clack. Wa-thump.

There’s not a ton of sounds that I think of as beautiful. But there’s something about the noise that billiard balls make when they hit each other, and when they fall into a pocket, that gives me joy every time I hear it.

It has an air of sophistication to it. It makes me feel like a member of high society, even if I’m just hearing it and not playing. I’ve never heard that clacking sound replicated anywhere, and it’s one of my favorite sounds in the world.

And, of course, there’s the satisfaction you get when you actually sink a shot. But I know very little about that.


There are few things that are more poetic and comfy than sitting outside and reading or writing with a light breeze passing over me. The world seems so at peace, and I feel like a character from an old book or an old historical figure, enjoying sophisticated entertainment in a beautiful garden.

But in southern California, the seasons don’t like to let me do that. They tend to either be too hot to even think about sitting outside for an extended period of time, or chilly enough to be uncomfortable if there’s a breeze.

So instead of sitting in a beautiful garden, with a light breeze blowing by, I sit in my room and read instead. Which is really anti-climactic.

But I have a ceiling fan, and it has a setting that feels exactly the way that a light breeze should feel. It’s not quite the same, sure, but that’s where my imagination comes in—which should happen in reading anyway.

Maybe I should get flowery wall-paper?

This morning, while I was taking a walk, I saw a young family standing in their front yard. The mom was standing by the front door, holding a baby; a toddler was running around, giggling uncontrollably for no apparent reason; and the dad was holding a knapsack and chasing the toddler around. It was a completely unremarkable moment in the lives of these people, I’m sure. But in five seconds, it made me feel like I knew everything I need to about these people. That’s a good home. That toddler was as happy as I’ve ever been, just because he could be, and because his parents love him.

I hope one day my kids feel that way.

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