When you won’t do it for yourself.
Do it for the child. The one who couldn’t help but talk to strangers. The one who didn’t know any better. The one who scraped their knees on the unforgiving ground and just kept on running.
Do it for the daydreamer and bedtime story believer.
Do it for the hope of adventure mixed with happily ever after: the one that’s found in storybooks and fairytales. Do it for each and every window that separated the outside world from what has always been waiting with open arms.
Do it for the child who ran out into the rain because only seeing it was not enough to satisfy curiosity. Do it for the child who tossed and turned in the mud, without a care about spoiling shoes and shirts. Do it for the child who climbed every tree in the hopes of experiencing so much more.
That child knew anything was possible until, one day, someone lied to them and told them otherwise.
That child sought out adventures once upon a time – even if it was just in the comfort of their parents’ backyard.
Digging tunnels straight down to China was a realistic thing, back then.
But, tell me, where are those shovels now?