Clamor

Today I went to the State Fair. I had a great time with my daughter. We viewed calligraphy, watched glass blowers and bead makers, listened to music, cheered for Chinese acrobats, clapped for the horses pulling carriages, ate fair food, shopped through multiple vendors, and laughed at those who'd been hypnotized.

In every place, there were things to see, to touch, to smell, and people talking, laughing, eating, clapping, and selling. They were selling vacuums, filters, sheets, blenders, shears, candy, popcorn, necklaces, rings, hats, T-shirts, shoes, stuff and more stuff.
 

In one building, there were sales people with microphones so the crowds could hear them talk about chopping, blending, scrubbing, wiping, spinning, cooking, or sewing. My eyes and ears were full of the clamor. Once I felt it try to get inside me. Odd feeling. I kept it at bay, and it stayed out.

I wonder how many people unaware allow it to climb inside and take it with them. Unwittingly, accepting the clamorous gift of non-stop unrest. Taking home the unquiet notion that the life lived is not enough, not exciting enough, not full enough, not easy enough.
 

The clamor of the fair was fun for the day, but I left it there. I have enough.