I remember walking along the railroad tracks.
I was small—small enough to squeeze through the hole in the barbed-wire fence—small enough that to advance from one tie to the next required not just a stride, but a deep bend of the knees…and a leap.
I was the oldest, which meant I was the scout.
I remember the tracks smelled like hot tar; the wooden planks were rotting. I leapt along from one tie to the next, stopping to balance myself on each one, intensely focused. I might as well have been up in the sky, leaping along steel construction beams.
When I finally reached the platform, I looked up and realized I had no idea where I was. This was before cell phones. I had nothing in my pockets but a red Swiss Army Knife and maybe a few dimes my Dad had given more for bringing up the trash cans. Not sure what else to do—but feeling strangely gratified—I turned around and leapt back down the tracks, back through the hole in the fence, and home, where my brothers awaited my report.
How often do you explore the space around you? If you’re like me and most Americans I know…not very often. Above all we value EFFICIENCY. Time is a commodity like gold and silver and coffee beans. We “spend” it. We hoard it. We divide it. “Work time.” “Lunch time.” “Leisure time.” How did things get this way?
