Contraption: (n) a mechanical contrivance; gadget; device.
Getting older changes my opinion on many things.
When I was much younger, I viewed myself as a discovery—a unique human being placed on Earth for some divine cause or mission. Such an idea was immature, short-sighted and arrogant simultaneously.
Getting a little more experience under my belt, I thought I might be an invention. In other words, the creative forces in the universe stumbled upon my attributes and decided to use me to make something else.
Yet as time marched on, I realized that although I was happy and did possess some ability, the combination was not unique to my person.
Pressing on, I now realize I’m a contraption, and like any such device, I’m about as usable as I am willing to be flexible.
For instance, a tire iron is a contraption. It can function to work on tires. You can use it to get something from underneath a couch. Or if an attacker decided to bother you, you might be able to scare him or her away with by brandishing it.
Yes—I am a contraption. I’m just about as functional as I’m willing to evolve myself to be.
I used to be prideful and say I would never do certain things. Once I abandoned the pride, I suddenly discovered there were many more inventive things I could do.