When I was 3 my dad placed me in a cupboard box. He would push me around across the carpet, pretending to be a locomotive car. I closed my eyes and imagined myself to be a skilled conductor. It wasn't just a box.
When I was 7 I took an old refrigerator box and made it into a spaceship. I decorated it with colored paper, paint and crayons. I sat inside and pretended it was a spaceship. I closed my eyes and imagined I was freely flying through space. It wasn't just a box.
When I was 11 I spent the summer bike riding to the park. I found a small square fort in the trees made out of rocks. I went there often, pretended I was in another land. I closed my eyes and imagined I was courageous. It wasn't just a box.
When I was 15 I learned to drive. I got into a box with four wheels under the instruction of my mom. 11 months later I was driving on my own. I closed my eyes and imagined I was driving to another place, embarking on a new adventure. It wasn't just a box.
When I was 18 I left for college. I packed all my things into neat little boxes. I put all the boxes into the big box on four wheels. I drove the 10 hour trip with my mother, and said goodbye. I closed my eyes and imagined I was someone smart and educated. They weren't just boxes.
When I was 22 I finished college. I had four years of school behind me, with a bachelors degree. My parents watched me walk across the University's stage and take a box. Inside the box was my diploma. I closed my eyes and imagined I was doing something important. Helping others somehow. It wasn't just a box.
Now I'm 24. I love to study. I sit inside my square room and spend time with loads of books. I study and study and study, enjoying all of my learning. I box myself into my studies and pour myself into it. I love it, but it also feels like all I have sometimes. I close my eyes and imagine there's a reason for it all. It's not just a box. Yet it is.
