A Spark

I've been looking for a spark. 

You know what I mean. I know you've seen it too.

You see it with athletes who are beyond skilled at their sport, the kind of players of games who it is a genuine joy to watch. Or with musicians who speak through their instruments. Or composers and performers who make something that speaks to your soul. Lin-Manuel Miranda has the spark in spades.

Because words are the way that I interact with the world, I'm more likely see the spark in anything world-related than anything else. Say what you want about YA lit, but John Green has the spark. Say what you want to about fantasy books, but Neil Gaiman’s got the spark. I live and move and breathe in the spark The Avett Brothers have. Spark somehow becomes liquified and oozes out of almost every word in Night Vale. The whole reason that people pay attention to the Daily Show and Colbert and Last Week Tonight is because the writers and hosts have that spark. I’m a sucker for every Sorkin speech, every Shakespearean play, every Whedonism because their words give off sparks like firecrackers. The opening scene of the Newsroom is this perfect combination of spark and idealism and information and frustration and I can watch it over and over again because I know the heart is there and the fits and starts and pops of the spark carry it forward.

I see the spark in places where people make things. I have to trace it sometimes and sometimes it’s buried, but I love it when I find it. I love finding that idea that shows me that this person’s got that spark. I hold on to it and when I’m older and wiser, I’d like to foster it, watch it grow, help it live a life freed from the expectations it has had set upon it. I guess that’s why I end up dancing around teaching or training or mentoring in my life-- the preservation of every spark I see is the song of my heart, the one it sings when I’m not paying attention to what it’s doing. I gather up words and ideas and beautiful things people have made and ponder them, keeping them tucked away and safe in case the day comes early when the sky blackens and there’s no one left to remember humanity’s spark except for me. I don’t believe in that day, but I fear it all the same and so I collect my sparks.

And I get frustrated when I don’t see a spark. Frustrated, or bored. Reality TV? Have difficulty finding a spark. Rom-com? Again, the spark’s pretty damn buried (unless it’s When Harry Met Sally). Every day of your life is full of these inane, spark-less conversations, or it can be, anyway, and that’s why I need someone with a spark to keep around. I need to be able to trust that it’s there, that it’ll come to the fore, that I will every once in a while be surprised by the beautiful newness that’s coming out of this person.

Sparks are hard for me to walk away from. I can’t help it. I’m a moth drawn to this particular flame. Actually, no. I don't like the incapability implicit in that image. I'm... well... I was going to say one of two heat-seeking missiles following each other's signature in the vastness of space but that doesn't work, exactly, so moth-flame analogy it is. Firefly to flame, if biology can be overridden in metaphor. Give me something that lights up my life and chances are I'll follow you forever. 

It's subjective, I know. But isn't all love?