What is the point, you ask?

It is true, I am infinitesimally small 

All of my life’s experiences are statistically insignificant

in time and space.

I have no relationship with the world, I think as

I sprinkle powder sugar on red raspberries and hand them to my kids.

Life has been unfolding for 13.8 billion years, it does not need me

So why do I bother myself about kids’ messy rooms. 

As I pick up hot wheel cars and Pokemon cards and clean the guinea pig’s cage, I wonder 

How can there be anxiety about time, late slips, organic dairy and missed lessons? 

What does any of it matter, when all the suffering and joy of human existence has occurred

On one tiny blue gem hurtling through expanding space?

And still this: the way my daughter senses without seeing 

I am sitting still and finds her way to my lap. 

Her small legs stretch long atop my own 

Her warm back leans against my chest.

I bury my nose in her thick brown hair and inhale. 

Warm cookies and laundry and a unique scent 

that is my little girl blend together.

I am home. I exhale and surrender to peace. 

How did I exist before her, before this moment? 

I hear Timer’s claws clicking on the wood floor 

Until she finds us, leans her soft 

Fur against me and sinks to the floor. 

How can I not be enjoying every moment of my insignificance?

I close my eyes. I empty, and I smile.

Only when I am nothing, do I matter.