27: The Windmill

I went to a craft store with my wife.

It was not the kind of store I usually visit.

As I walked through the aisles, I was surprised by how much creativity was there. Small decorations. Seasonal colors. Simple objects. Things people use to make their homes more personal, warm, and joyful.

My wife found a small plastic windmill.

It was inexpensive.

Maybe ten dollars.

Nothing rare.

Nothing impressive.

Nothing sophisticated.

But when I saw it, something from childhood came back.

I remembered holding a windmill as a child.

Running with it.

Watching it spin.

Feeling simple happiness.

So I took it outside and did the same thing.

I am now in my fifties.

But for that moment, the joy felt the same.

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People in the parking lot may have looked at me strangely.

An older man playing with a plastic windmill.

Maybe it looked childish.

Maybe it looked awkward.

But I did not care.

I was happy.

That itself surprised me.

For many years, I cared deeply about how I appeared.

Professional.

Serious.

Respectable.

Competent.

I tried to behave in ways that matched my role.

But roles can make life heavy.

They can also make us forget simple joy.

⸻

This moment reminded me that there is a difference between being immature and being childlike.

Immaturity avoids responsibility.

Childlike joy receives life simply.

The windmill did not ask anything from me.

It did not require achievement.

It did not give recognition.

It did not improve my career.

It simply turned in the wind.

And that was enough.

⸻

The windmill also felt like a quiet symbol.

It does not create the wind.

It receives it.

It does not force movement.

It turns when the wind comes.

Maybe joy works in a similar way.

We do not always create it by force.

Sometimes we become open enough to receive it.

⸻

For many years, I looked for happiness in large things.

Achievement.

Progress.

Recognition.

Major experiences.

But now, more often, happiness appears in small things.

A sunrise.

A quiet run.

A meal with family.

A conversation.

A plastic windmill in a parking lot.

These moments are easy to miss.

Especially when the mind is busy protecting image or chasing the next goal.

⸻

My wife has always been better than I am at finding small happiness.

Perhaps I am finally learning to enter that world.

A world where joy does not need to be expensive, impressive, or socially recognized.

A world where something simple can open a memory, a smile, and a moment of freedom.

⸻

A small plastic windmill reminded me that joy does not need to be sophisticated.

People may have seen an aging man acting strangely in a parking lot.

But I felt a childlike happiness I had not touched for years.

And for that moment,

that was more than enough.