Scatterbrain

Little Truths: Dents

03/09/25

// forward: Imagine, for a moment, a shattered mirror trying to reflect someone’s face. Alone, the individual shards of glass aren’t sufficient - they each only show a minuscule fragment of a complete picture. Still, on occasion, they can be viewed at a perfect angle which echoes a brief but important portion of the visage. Maybe a corner of an eye, or the crook of a grin. After studying enough of these critical features, one can begin to form an idea of the original countenance.

The “little truths” one encounters in their day-to-day are these slivers of mirror, and they are quite commonplace. Occasionally however, an especially precious shard will glint at you from amongst the rest. Take heed when one does – you might find this little truth provides insight towards one far more profound.

At some point in the semester before I graduated from Georgia Tech, I purchased a watch. A 42mm Hamilton Khaki Field automatic with pilot's hands and a black dial - also known as a Murph. While I don't consider myself a materialistic person, I do love this watch for two reasons. First, it's a movie watch from my inarguable favorite film of all time, Interstellar by Christopher Nolan. Second, the time when I bought the watch was a period of intense personal transition in my life. The watch serves as a memento, something to remind me of the person I was before and anchor me through similar seasons.

Earlier this week, I unceremoniously dropped the watch on to an asphalt street when retrieving it from the trunk of my car. There was an all too familiar dread as I leaned over to pick it up - the same sinking feeling as when you fumble your phone and slowly peel it up, praying the glass didn't shatter. Thankfully, the watch's crystal has proven so far (knock on wood) to be impervious to my clumsy antics. Street 0, watch 1. However, the fall did impart a permanent scar on the watch: right above the 2' marker on the dial, the stainless-steel case now sports a small dent. There's no functional impact to the watch - it's shock absorbent so the inner mechanisms are still working fine¹. Still, when I now glance at my wrist for the time, there's always a chance I see the mark and am reminded of this incident.

Personally, I find this rather beautiful.

Wear and tear is a natural part of life; you'll see it surface in everything. Material possessions are probably the most straightforward example - I can't name a single item I have used for more than a week which doesn't have at least a scratch on it. My car has countless dents and scrapes, my clothes frayed seams, and my keyboard worn keys. I appreciate all of these imperfections though, because they each tell a bit of the story of my ownership of the item. What differentiates my Murph from anyone else's is its dents, its imperfections, its "flaws". Without them, I wouldn't be able to identify my watch from a new one straight off the shelf. And, if you can't identify your possession from someone else's, is it really yours in the first place? If you haven't used it enough to sully it, is it providing any real value to you?

Now, turns out people wear and tear as often as their stuff. I'm 24, and my own body has already amassed its fair share of imperfections. For example, my right hand has a long scar right above my 4th metacarpal, giving the phrase "like the back of my hand" has an amusing degree of personal accuracy. The scar is etched across a bone which now has a titanium steel plate wrapped and drilled around it for support - a souvenir from a (freak) soccer injury I obtained at 19 which shattered three bones in the hand and simultaneously dislocated my left shoulder. While functionally fine for the most part, my hand did develop a few quirks post-surgery - I can't snap with it anymore, tying shoes is oddly more difficult, etc. The shoulder gives me more trouble - it subluxs all the time when I play sports and has been a source of instability in athletic endeavors since. Unless I get a ligament repair surgery which goes exceptionally well, my shoulder will likely be a lifelong injury due to the structural damage which occurred.

If you could wiggle your fingers and fully heal the damage, I'd take you up on it. I'm not fond of this injury. But, if in fixing my shoulder and hand you also had to remove my memories and experiences from the injury and its aftermath, I'd turn you down immediately.

I changed from this injury, and mostly for the better. When I first dislocated the shoulder, it was the worst pain I'd ever experienced and caused me to briefly go into shock. I remember feeling the blood in my face draining from dread, white-hot agony in my shoulder, my shaky, panicked breath, and an overwhelming feeling of dissociation. These days, a sublux is more of an annoyance than anything else. The pain is identical to the original injury's, but I'm tougher now and far more tolerant. I can slip my shoulder in a game, walk off on my own to the sideline, pop it into place myself, and be back on the pitch the next week after rest. There were other challenges I successfully navigated with this injury as well - I distinctly remember taking a linear algebra exam orally because I spent the majority of my freshman semester at GT in two slings, unable to write with a pen. Got an A in the class too, but who's counting?

Over the years, I've learned to accept and lean into pain². Discomfort, agony, embarrassment – regardless of the exact feelings, they're all dents to me these days. Echoing my watch's, they tell part of my story – each a reminder of a difficulty I overcame. After all, I figure my body and mind are possessions like any other, and their wear confirms I'm using them properly in life.

I will not save myself for better times.
I will use myself up now – and then I will use myself up again tomorrow.
It's why my eyes stay open all night and my heart throws itself to the stars.
To see which ones decide to stand still and grow a constellation around me.³