You are such a happy camper now that you’re under your own head of steam.

Nothing stops you from completing your little voyages… if anything gets in the way it becomes an object of unintentional scorn…  walked on, crushed, trampled and sometimes annihilated underfoot.

You’re Jack the Tank.

What makes it so fun to watch is the delightful mix between (A) the sheer joy of being able to control your own destiny and (B) your naivete about what is actually transpiring as you plod your way over and through all obstacles.

Blocks underfoot?  No problem.  150 lincoln logs strewn about?  I don’t see ’em.

Without speaking, you translate the obvious:

“I don’t care. I may feel something under my feet, but I am ignoring it because the most important objective is moving forward.  If I ignore, I will overcome.

I just… want…to…move…forward.”

But Jack the Tank you are not alone.

Cast within the same rugged little wide-body is another being… a back-and-forth swerving machine I call the Drunken Sailor.

Like a sailor on leave hitting ground for the first time after months at sea, your little legs are set wide as you move forward in a rocking-back-and-forth style that stabilizes and yet propels.

Ever present is the inimitable Jack grin… smiling wide as you become the person you’ve always dreamed of… independent… adventurous… free.