In the summer, a bike for a young kid is an introduction to freedom, a little taste of flying. But in the snow, you’re going to need a sled. This choice of tools might seem obvious, but how many times have you used a sledgehammer in a conversation, when you might have been better off with a magnifying glass?
When have you recognized that you were coming at a problem using the wrong tool?
As you rise to the top of the wheel, look quick. There, spread out before you, is not only the whole fairgrounds, but also the fields or houses or hills beyond. Your long-distance view won’t last, the wheel will keep turning, so you will need to hold the image in your mind as you come down.
What does your life path look like when you glimpse the view from on high?
All winter you might think that the tulip beds were just bare ground, a field of emptiness. It takes a lot of trust and patience to get to the moment when the dazzling masses of color emerge, and still more to remember they will come again as they start to fade.
In what brief moment have you been overwhelmed by abundance?
The Statue of Liberty shines her torch as a beacon to welcome the “huddled masses yearning to breathe free.” Of course, when the “wretched” actually arrive it is likely to be something of a different story, but still, the statue reaches out as a symbol of the possible.
When have you received an extraordinary welcome? When have you offered one?
The crowd has gathered, ready for the run, or the protest march, or the big game. Although strangers may or may not speak to one another, each person has become part of something larger, something that has the potential to become not just a mass of people, but a community—or a mob.
When have you felt a strong connection with a group of people that you didn’t know?
