a true story about big feelings
The Golden Egg Wasn't Hers
There's one golden egg in the whole field, and another kid just held it up over his head.
the realization
I kept handing her numbers when she didn't want numbers. The second I stopped proving how lucky she was and just said out loud that this hurt, she finally had somewhere to put it.
One golden egg in the entire field. She'd been hunting for it the way you hunt for the only thing that matters. Then a boy near the fence held it up over his head and the whole crowd cheered, and I watched her basket go slack in her hand. Five regular eggs in there. She didn't care about a single one.
have you ever felt this way too?
So I did what I always do. I counted for her. You've got five, honey, and he only found one, so really you're the lucky one. I said it like it was a gift. She cried harder. I gave her more math, better math, and every number I handed her made it worse. The shimmer was in someone else's hand and no amount of arithmetic was going to move it.
That's when I stopped talking. I quit counting and just scooped her up off the grass. You wanted that golden egg so much, I said. And it's not yours. That's so hard. I didn't fix it or trade it or promise her one next year.
She dropped her face straight into my neck and cried it out there, against me, instead of alone on the grass. Five eggs still in the basket, the perfect ordinary eggs, completely forgotten. She wasn't crying about eggs.
what I found myself saying
"I stopped counting and just said — you wanted that one so much."
"And it's not yours. That's so hard."
"No trade, no fix. Just — come here, cry it out on me."
