I don’t quite understand how my brain works. The way a smell triggers a memory or the way there’s a certain song that will always make me cry as if something terrible had happened.
There’s one thing though that I know it’s very planted in my brain and even though I don’t get the mechanism, I like the way it feels.
Opening a brand new box of colored pencils makes me instantly happy.
I feel in kindergarten. I feel safe, and happy and just filled with possibilities.
Since I am an adult, now, apparently, I make sure *almost* every time I go to dollarama I came back with a brand new box of colored pencils. I have different brands, water colors, pastel, you name it. And it never gets old. Every time I open one… there is the feeling.
So, today, I wasn’t feeling my best. It’s a weird time for all of us. Therefore I decided to sit down with my kids and sort our used pencils in mason jars. It was late at night and the house was quiet. It was just us and the colors.
I wonder if it also made them happy.