"We often need to shed our skins, those coatings and facades that we cover ourselves with," I said to my now absorbed daughter. "We outgrow some things and find other stuff unwanted or unnecessary. This snake no longer needs this skin. It is probably too stiff and crinkly for him, and he probably doesn't think he looks as smart in it as he once did. Like buying a new suit."

Of course, I' m sure this explanation won't sit well with bonafide naturalists. But Sarah was getting the point. As we talked, I knew that she began to comprehend, albeit slightly, that renewal is part of progress; that we need to take a good look at ourselves, and our rooms and schoolwork and creativity and spirituality, and see what we need to keep and what we need to cast off. I was careful to point out that this is a natural process, not one to be forced.

我告訴全神貫注的小女兒：“我們常常要’蛻皮’，換掉身上那些衣服。我們長大了，有些東西不想要了，有些不需要了。這條蛇不再需要這張皮了。可能是蛇感到這張皮既僵硬又難看，穿在身上不像以前那么漂亮。就像買一套新衣服那樣。”

當然了，我敢肯定這樣的解釋不能讓真正的博物學家滿意。但薩拉聽明白了。談話間，我知道薩拉盡管是朦朦朧朧的，但理解了新生是進步的一部分，理解到我們需要好好審視自我、房間、功課、創造力以及靈性，想想需要留下什么，摒棄哪些。我用心地解釋這是自然過程，并非強迫著去做的。