My current neurologist framed his first question at my first appointment this way, “Why are you here.” Of course there was the customary “welcome” that I was expecting but this question came across as a bit esoteric. After all, that’s not the question that I’m asked when I visit Best Buy or Gander Mountain’s Firearms SuperCenter, or other retailers that are near and dear to my heart.

I presumed that he knew the answer, which he did, even before I uttered the words, “I have Parkinson’s.”

His response, “Yes, I know. How can I help you?” He needed me to answer the “why” question so that he could formulate an appropriate “how” response.

Why am I here? A better question might be, “Why are you here? What brings you to my blog? After all, this is my sandbox. With all of the sandboxes to choose from, what brought you to mine? Yeah, I get it that this sandbox is different. So are you going to stand idly by on the side out of fear that you will get your hands dirty or sand in your pockets? Are you going to jump in?”

Sandboxes are meant to be enjoyed. Do you remember your first one. I do, my dad built it in our garage. I was very young at the time, maybe three of four, so I don’t remember why he built it in the garage. It’s not like we lived in Seattle or the Amazon rain forests. I’m sure he had a good reason, well, at least a reason.

To reframe the question, “What do you hope to get by visiting my sandbox that you cannot get somewhere else.” One of my professors, a marketing guy standing tall at about 5’6″, a former Navy Seal we were told, repeated this single phrase more times than I can count, “Nothing is sold before something is solved.” It’s a question that I frequently revisit. What am I willing to part with, or what do I need to acquire, to get a problem solved?

“Is there a problem that I can help you solve today?” How does that one come across? A bit pretentious, or condescending, or misdirected? Still, there is a rudimentary question that I am trying to get answered that eludes me, why would someone, anyone, turn off something pertinent to the meaning of life, like The Bachelor for example, and tune into my muses. Aren’t you afraid that you will miss a nugget of brilliance, yet another cat-fight, or a deep philosophical discussion as to why leopard print is always in fashion?

I can’t compete with that. Who do I look like, Aristotle, or Frankyl, or that old bald guy with the creepy eyes in Kung Fu?

Welcome to my sandbox. Where visitors are always welcome and because its virtual, there is alway room for more. Bring your own shovel and bucket, or excavator or Terex dump truck; anything that you think we need to move the sand around in the sandbox. That’s what we try to do here, take ideas that are as ubiquitous as sand, turn them over, mix them up with some of the other kinds of sand in the box in an attempt answer this single question. How can you and I make our lives extraordinary; one of purpose and promise? You won’t be sorry you came, but I can assure you that you will leave with some sand in your pockets that will serve as a reminder that you came and why you did.

I think that you will notice that the tone of my posts are changing a little. I need to move beyond the notion, at least I think I do, that writing about Living with Parkinson’s is all that there is. Writing about living with a degenerative condition is still interesting, but spending more time enjoying life is what ignites a fire within me that is worth sharing.

Now I remember why my dad built our sand box in the garage, the neighbors had cats. No need to worry about jumping in my sandbox, my daughter’s cat stays inside so you won’t find any unwanted deposits disguised as Tootsie Rolls.

Thanks for reading, liking and sharing

Ivy would probably like her own sandbox. Now that her favorite pastime is excavating my front yard, emptying a sandbox could be just what it takes to burn her energy.

Al Van Dyk, and his faithful, but dirty, sidekick, Ivy the wonder pup.