Last week, we finally left the tree.

After thirty weeks in the roots, climbing into the branches, bearing fruit, and learning to share it, we looked across the Forest of Consciousness and realized something:

We didn't do all that work just to become really well-adjusted adults sitting politely in one tree.

We did it so we could participate in the whole damn forest without losing ourselves.

So naturally, the first tree I jumped into...

has a swing.

Because maybe play isn't what we do after the important work is finished.

Maybe play is one of the ways human beings discover what's possible.

And at fifty-one, I'm discovering that the little girl who knew exactly what to do with a swing might have understood something the adult spent decades trying to remember

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