Car Conversations

Yesterday, I was in the car with two of my kids, when Jonah (boy, 7 years old), proclaimed he was going to be a writer. I smiled and told them I also have that dream since I was five.

Baukje (girl, 10 yrs old) was surprised and curious. So I reluctantly told them about stories I’ve written when I was their age (a never ending fairy tale about a magical flower and a series about a flying teabag. I know, I was a brilliant kid, haha).

I admitted it was still my dream and they were very interested in what I was writing now.

The conversation went something like this

Me: ‘It’s a story for teens about a girl that is half devil/half human. Her father is the devil (who’s retired for the time being) and her mother, well she’s a bit of a criminal. ‘

Jonah: ‘Cool’.

Me: (surprised they were still interested) ‘The girl protects the gate to hell which is in Paris and only has to do this for a couple of days, because she has done it for years. But then a terrorist starts bombing sites in the city.

Baukje: ‘Really?’ Does this really happen?”

Me: “No love, it’s just a story.’

Baukje: ‘Isn’t it too scary to write?’

Two things happened:

  1. Summarizing your story can do wonders for your understanding of it
  2. I realized children are the best. And I love them so much

 

bauk jo

(Jonah and Baukje being cute, standing on the Eiffel Tower).

 

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Decorating the Box

Thinking outside the box is often considered a valuable quality. But what do people mean when they say it? Is the box your comfort zone? Is it shared with people who happen to have the same box? The same boundaries? Is it said when someone thinks of something you haven’t thought of?

And what does it mean when people live like there is no box?

I don’t get it.

Or better said: I don’t get why it’s important.

People are who they are, and become who they become. Could be because there are limits to their intelligence, or because they chose to. Could be because they’ve been listening to others all their lives. Could be because they don’t care.

If I’d had a box, it would fit me like a second skin. I could step inside, or outside. I would compare it to the boxes of others. And I would decorate it with pink flowery wallpaper and call him Sam.

Because Sam is a cool name for a box.

Sorry for the rambling.