There once was a kid who liked his bedroom. A lot. He rarely left.
But he had to go to the bathroom. Plus he had other needs too. So he found other rooms, other places and along the way, other people. And usually it was ok. Until he came to the wall.
The wall was huge and imposing and made of crumbling bricks and faulty mortar and there were doors and windows and ladders propped against it in several places and there were holes dug underneath it; oddly it seemed someone built the whole thing on wet sand so there were all sorts of places one could pass through that vast circle of a wall around him (truth be told he could probably push through the bricks with two fingers) but regardless of all this there was one problem: the kid could not predict what was on the other side.
Oh sure, he had heard stories, he had watched the soap operas, he had read some of the books, someone had texted him a few photos, he could imagine. Through the windows it looked fine and then some, but like any window it’s impossible to see much beyond the frame let alone enjoy the breeze. Despite all this fascinating potential it was still too much unpredictability.
And so he stayed where he was. Surrounded. Free to go. Trapped. Unchanged. Safe?
And then the paper airplane came over the wall. So did the cat. Through the peephole he could see someone who seemed to belong next to the word beautiful in the dictionary. Then someone threw a coconut. A tree went timber. A variety of other things ventured over and crashed through and you can fill in the blanks here because this isn’t just the kid’s story I hope you know and then finally the book came: one very vital book. One might think that the kid opened the book and it was instant like lightning or the internet. (Ever notice that almost nothing truly worthwhile or meaningful is every instant and easy?) But no. This book, its pages few, seemed quite confusing. Eventually though, he understood something about it. It happened like the way stars appear during twilight, one at a time here and there and a person can’t help but wonder if that one might be Mars or Venus and then something like smoke coming out of the barbeque draws your attention elsewhere for a few minutes but still there’s the entire sky. One just can’t NOT look. It’s splattered with stars. And it’s staring back.
That book? Utterly blank. Waiting to be filled with stories: comic, tragic, romantic, new characters, some shady, some not, plot points one can only dream of but ALL adventure and ALL beyond the wall.
And so he finally pushed himself through that wall, stopped, looked back, and crawled his way back home, went to the bathroom, made a sandwich, ate, contemplated some more, texted a few buds, and then returned to the wall and finally, finally before yet another sunset vanished he pushed through his comfy comfortable comfort zone, and each time it became a tad bit easier until that book of his...? Well. Eventually he had to staple in a few extra pages.