The Sandbox

“Welcome to the playground,” he says, “where imagination comes to life!”

“It’s beautiful,” she says.

“Where shall I put you down for?” he asks. “Monkey bars? A wonderful place to show strength and coordination, as well as any fancy flips and tricks you may have up your sleeve.”

“No,” she says. “I am not that artistic. Nor that conniving.”

“Shall it be the swings? A magnificent way to show poise and grace as you launch yourself towards the sky,” he explains.

“No,” she says. “I fear I lack the sophistication and ambition.”

“Surely you will find your place at the seesaw!” he exclaims. “A place of relaxation where you can settle down on one end and teeter up and down with the aid of your partner on the other end.”

“No,” she says. “I am not prepared for such commitment.”

“Then which other destination would you prefer?” he inquires.

“I think I’ll opt for the sandbox today,” she says. “A place of comfort where I can create, build, and destroy with just my two hands.”

“Very well,” he says. “Will it be a party of two or three? Four or five?”

“No,” she says. “Just a party of one today.”

“May I take your coat?” he offers.

“No, thank you. I will need it to protect me from the cold.”

The playground is a metaphor for life. The different equipment is different paths one can take. You can go anywhere, but it is okay to not want to go anywhere for one day. You don’t have to have it together every single second of your life. It is okay to want to break down and be by yourself if need be. You will only go up from there.


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