Finley's Purpose

November 2, 2026

Greetings from the refresher,

One of my best friends is four years old.  We like each other’s company, even when we don’t understand each other.  We have different interests, we spend our time in vastly different ways, but somehow when we are together, we learn from each other, and we enjoy one another.

My friend is Finley, who coincidentally is my grandson.  Maybe ‘coincidentally’ is not a strong enough word. He has set a pretty good example of living for me to follow, and at times it seems our friendship has a purpose that was created before either of us was.

I enjoy playing with Finley, or just wandering until something interests us.  One moment from years ago that is pretty bold was when we were walking back from the playground and he got it into his head to gather flowers for his mother.  Each bit of clover, each dandelion was carefully examined for some quality he didn’t name, until he selected the perfect choices, gathered in his plump fists, carried back across the distance to where his mom was.

There are countless little scenes like this, but now we have reached a place where we can share ideas that seem even more meaningful.  Some months ago, we were talking about something else, (every conversation is about something else) and he told me:

“Anda, I have a skeleton inside of me.”

The way he said it was as if he had made a discovery, and it was important that he told me. 

He pointed to his knee, moving his leg around. “You can see my skeleton here,” and then pointed to tendons in his hand, “and you can see my skeleton in my hand too.”  He looked at me to see if I was getting it.

Finley talked about the skeleton as if it were a unique, separate entity, maybe another living thing, operating inside of his body.  He was happy to know it, happy to tell me.

I wrote this down because it felt important, but it wasn’t until some time later that it came to me why.  I have thought a lot about this sentence, because it has been representative of my friend’s wonder at the world, the awe he holds as his natural state.

It’s not the first time I’ve noticed this sense of amazement that he travels around with, but I like being reminded of it.  Sometimes you have to watch closely because sometimes the things he discovers happen in a flash, and are gone. Which feels familiar.

This weekend I was wondering what it would be like to wake up one morning as a brand new person, and have other people explain existence to you.  You have a skeleton inside you.  Also, you are mostly water.  And now let me explain your brain to you. And dreams.  Wait, you might want to know about how your skin works. Oh, yeah, and here is the rest of creation too.

Wow. 

Another time Finley and I were waiting.  He was leaning over his knees, looking at his feet.

“When am I going to see you?” he asked.

“You are seeing me right now.”

“When am I going to see you another time?”

There is a movie that would be easy for you to miss, called Perfect Days. In it the main character explains to his niece the value of being present.  He says, “Next time is next time.  Now is now.” In some ways it is the theme of the movie.

I said to Finley, “Next time is next time.  Now is now.” 

He just laughed.  “Anda, you’re silly.”

I am not sure what Finley’s concept of time is like, or what he thinks of when he imagines the future.  The message from Perfect Days was more for me than for him.

The more I know of him, the more I grasp his perspective.  Sometimes I am distracted by the fact he is a little boy, my mind wanders to his school, his friends, his future. And then I am brought back to where we are living.  Now is now.  Now is where I will see the pristine delight, the curiosity, the amazement in simple discovery.

This morning I went outside in my bare feet and felt the morning. I felt the cool of the boards beneath my feet, the brittle leaves give way in a soft sigh of resignation. I smelled the earth, heard the first birds. And I was completely aware that I have a skeleton inside of me.

I’m not the first person of my age to be reminded of awe by younger people.  But that doesn’t make it less important. Also, I get to remind you, which now feels like the purpose Finley gave to me.

Hope this finds you new again,

David

This essay was written by the author and does not include Ai content.