Luik and I spent the morning making paper airplanes together, and flying them across the green room.

(Yes, most all our living spaces are named for the colors we’ve painted them).

I honestly hadn’t made a paper airplane in years.

Many years.

But I remember making hundreds of them in grade school. My buddies and I treated it as a sacred art. Each model, each fold. Even the color schemes and insignias.

I’m sure our aircraft manufacturing mattered little to anyone else; and all those folded sheets of paper are 20-years long gone. But to us, it was our trade-craft. And we were proud if it.

The most interesting thing about diligence is that many of the things that matter to us probably don’t matter to others. But then again, “others” are not the ones that feel the satisfaction of knowing our job was well done.

We do.

In true diligence, there is no ambition, or room for false motives set on promotion or limelight. There is just the task, and knowing it was fully completed with efficiency and thoughtfulness.

Because we know.

I’d like to think that so many of my grown-up projects work well because my little kid paper airplanes flew well.

How are yours flying? ch:



Glade · 15 Oct ’11 at 1:23 pm

Great post, Sir Hopper. I never could get a folded piece of paper off the ground. Scary thought, considering I want to be a pilate. 😉

Sarah · 16 Oct ’11 at 12:28 pm

I used to love making paper airplanes. Then I started actually writing on the paper and kind of gave up on it.

Very good thoughts in this post. Hmm . . .

    Christopher Hopper · 16 Oct ’11 at 2:30 pm

    It can be said that your paper airplane experiences led to your novel writing experiences! 😉

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