Once upon a time, on a sunlit playground, I saw two pairs of children playing tag.

In the first game, a girl sped away from her playmate with lightning swiftness. Her laughter rang out as she widened the gap between them with ease. But her triumph was short-lived. Her pursuer, weary of the chase and seeing no hope of success, soon turned away to seek another game. The girl, though victorious in her escape, found herself alone.

In the second game, two boys played with subtlety. The pursued boy darted skillfully—slipping behind trees, weaving back and forth, always just out of reach. He never fled so far that his friend lost heart. His nearness promised possibility; his distance sustained the challenge. And so the chase went on, lively and long, their laughter echoing across the playground.

Watching them, I realized something: in a world full of choices, one wishes neither to be too-easy a prize nor an impossible pursuit. While not being caught is an achievement in a game of tag, being an alluring target keeps you in the game. A combination of remaining barely out of reach and risking being caught kept the second pair playing for a long time. The girl’s speed in the first pair handed her triumph on her right hand, and solitude on her left. But the pursued boy’s balance between risk and escape in the second pair gave the pair a lasting game.

It is worth asking what kind of victory one wants in life – the fleeting triumph of one collecting an egg after the hen hatches, or the continuous warmth of milking a cow nursing a calf? The first kind may put one on the highest peak, but one enjoys the breeze and the view all alone. The second offers a rhythm of nourishment that sustains both giver and receiver.

The art of connection lies in balance. The pursued must remain close enough to sustain the pursuit, yet somewhat elusive to retain value. On the playground, it keeps the game alive; in life, it keeps relationships, work, and love from fading.