Knowing Thyself.
There is an eight year old. me standing on the playground. Bereft. We have run wildly out into the fresh air for the 15 minutes of play. We are together in our abandon. Sprinting blindly to be the first for anything. And then I am alone. Alone with the saddness of the playground.
You see where I grew up was like a jungle, a deciduous jungle that in order to plant, build or see anything you had to push the forest back with forces of humanity and machinery and brute sweat faith. And there was no resting once you pushed, you had to actively work to keep the wild away. And so at the edge of that playground the wild waited for me. The lined edge of freedom.
Frozen alone in my dream, I was alive in the woods. The shrieks of joy, the whines of "it's not fair", and the clank of chain on pole, muted. I almost ran for the edge and threw myself overboard. But, I didn't. I saw the shame in the teachers eyes and understood the rules. The playground is where we play. So I did. I played on the playground.
So when you are standing on the beach and I run in fully clothed, or I am in a tree with my child. When I am gone for a month walking in the woods, or road tripping where phones cant. That is me jumping over the lined edge, away from the sad civilization, alive in freedom.
What eight year old self can you set free?