Empty Goods

Maybe the trick lies in the paradox: that even when empty, something can still be full of promise.

A blank sheet of paper, for example — for some, it’s just that, a sheet.
For a writer, though, it’s a passionate invitation:
“Please — fill me with meaning.”

The same goes for bottles, cans, and billboards — in marketing, in politics, and in life itself.
Maybe “emptiness” isn’t about waste at all.
Maybe it’s a form of potential.

Let’s take something — or rather, someone — truly new.
A newborn, fresh and blinking at the world.
Let’s call her Kimberley.
She looks sweet, soft, and slightly confused, as if she just escaped from a plastic paradise.
Apart from her tiny organs, her fragile nerves, and her baby-blue bloodstream, her mind is still an open field — untouched, unmeasured, wonderfully blank.

And that blankness? It’s good.
It’s waiting.

Then one day, something miraculous happens: the first spark of curiosity.
The great adventure begins.
Kimberley starts exploring her world — the light, the noise, the endless fascination of the forbidden outlet.
Her mother panics; Kimberley giggles.
That’s how the brain grows — through chaos and curiosity.

Soon the emptiness inside her head isn’t empty at all.
It’s filling up with sound, sight, and experience.
Memories begin to stack like building blocks.
And yet, thinking alone isn’t enough — the mind wants motion, risk, imagination.
When the synapses start gasping, it’s time for play.

And so Kimberley plays.
She wonders, “What if…?”
She invents, she dreams, she creates — because she doesn’t yet know that she’s creative.
She just is.

Out of her emptiness grows a full, living world — packed with laughter, art, emotion, and the sweet chaos of being alive.
And still, that little space of emptiness remains a blessing.
Because the human brain, like the human heart, needs room to breathe.

I keep returning to a story I once heard:
A little girl — let’s call her Kimberley — sits in art class, sketching with deep concentration.
The teacher comes over and asks,
“What are you drawing?”
“A picture of God,” says Kimberley.
“But no one knows what God looks like,” the teacher replies.
“You will in a minute,” Kimberley says calmly.

See?
That’s how quickly emptiness can turn into wonder.