Indulge me.

When I was very young, perhaps 5 or 6 years old, my family was visiting my grandparents in Brooklyn. At the time my family lived further out on long island, and we would travel to Brooklyn a few weekends a month for a visit and the traditional Italian Sunday sauce. I could write a novella about these weekends, my many memories, but one stands out.

This weekend a friend’s family was going camping, and I really wanted to go. Camping sounded fun, even though I really had no clear idea of what it was. In a bid to keep me happy, my grandfather told me he would take me camping. I was thrilled.

Later that evening, after the demitasse, my grandfather opened the window in the kitchen, at the back of the railroad flat, and we climbed out on the fire escape, pillows and blankets in tow. I cannot image it was easy for my grandfather to find any comfort, but for me it was heaven. I was camping!

Another world opened as I climbed out on to the fire escape. A world of clothes lines, tiny back yards with sheds, patios, bits of grass, a fruit tree here and there, gardens, bird baths, chairs, trash bins, bicycles, baby strollers, rear windows and fire escapes with little flowerpot gardens.

It was an eye-opening vantage point, a fresh perspective. I may not have learned much about camping, but I remember asking my grandfather a lot of questions about the new world I was taking in.

Staying open, with child-like wonder can be a hard-fought skill in adulthood, yet that’s where we discover new insight, feelings and experiences that are the essence of living. Its where new ideas are born.

To this day, in my mind, conjuring up the fire escape is a metaphor for seeking out new perspectives.

Permission granted; the fire I escape is the burning monotony of living with blinders on.

Find your fire escape.