Room for Your Mischief Alongside Your Heart

If wisdom ever comes to live with me, I hope it understands the arrangements.

There will be pretty paper. There will probably be glitter in places where glitter has no practical reason to be. And occasionally, in the middle of a perfectly meaningful conversation, I will say something that makes us both lose our place.

Wisdom is welcome to pull up a chair.

It should probably check the seat first.

I have a tender heart and a slightly suspicious sense of humor. Both would like to be included.

I care deeply. I think about things long after the conversation ends. I want people to feel heard, and I want the things I make to carry a little warmth into somebody’s day.

I also want a glitter-filled lava lamp and the freedom to find certain situations absolutely ridiculous.

This feels like a reasonable combination.

There is something lovely about being around a person who lets you be your whole peculiar self. You can tell them what hurts. You can also send them something completely foolish with no explanation beyond, “I knew you would understand.”

And they do.

They understand the serious thing you said yesterday and the nonsense you are offering today. They have room for both.

I want to give myself that kind of welcome.

Sometimes I catch myself trying to make every word useful. Every creation meaningful. Every little moment worthy of being held up and examined for what it might teach us.

Meanwhile, some small, unruly part of me is in the back of the room making a paper hat.

I am beginning to think she has a point.

Perhaps I could make something simply because it delights me. Write a sentence because I enjoy the way it tumbles out. Follow an odd little idea around the corner and see what it has been up to.

The dishes would still be there afterward. They have always been remarkably loyal.

And I might come back to them having enjoyed a few minutes of my own company.

That matters to me.

I want to feel comfortable enough in my own skin for my humor to arrive without being carefully introduced. To laugh before checking whether everyone else thinks it is funny. To let a little silliness interrupt the endless committee meeting in my head.

Some days, that meeting could use an interruption.

Possibly a kazoo.

So, if you come sit with me, bring your heart. Bring whatever you have been carrying and whatever you are still trying to find words for.

And if you have a ridiculous story, an unreasonable affection for something sparkly, or a laugh that occasionally turns into a snort, you can bring that, too.

We will make room.

Wisdom can scoot over.

One Quiet Question

What little bit of your personality would you like to give more room to play?

There is room for your mischief alongside your heart.

The porch light is on. Someone may have added glitter.

© 2026 Casey Edwards · Voice With a Purpose