At the weekend, we bought a kite. We headed to the beach, tied all the necessary bits (I think) and threw the kite up in the air.
It fluttered and spiralled and crashed to the ground. We tried again. It spluttered and span and crashed to the ground. We threw it more gently, waited for more wind, ran along with it.
The kite wanted to fly. We wanted the kite to fly. The express purpose of the kite was to fly, and it was not doing so. It wasn't fulfilling all its potential.
Which, in truly unsubtle style, made me wonder about us. What do you reckon our purpose is, and do you think we're fulfilling it? I suppose the kite made me think of me: designed and desiring to do something, but unable to do so.