A Sign of Narnia

"NARNIA" announces the standard 8 1/2" x 11" laminated white sheet of paper in block letters.  The sign is taped to the metal of a green lamppost.  However, the gleam of morning sun has distinguished the advertising spotlight of the post, so it waves unnoticed by passing pedestrians.  If the sign was larger or more significant, I believe it would be more easily noticed, without the need of being posted on a lamppost.  Instead it waves in the morning breeze, unreadable at unpredictable intervals, when the page gets folded over itself and only the word "NIA" or "ARNIA" is published to its busy audience.
Below the colored letters is a large arrow that takes up the other half of the limited space of 93 1/2 square inches of flimsy paper.  The first thing I do after noticing the post and paper, is to search the area in the direction the arrow points.  I see nothing.  There are only interweaving students hurrying to class with purposeful paces.  There are no stationary crowds.  There isn't a second lamppost surrounded by a circle of forest-y trees or snow or fawns or talking beavers.  Not wanting to be disappointed by the promise of the sign, I continue staring off into the distance wanting to catch a glimpse of something extraordinary.  I even pause for a moment and slow my pace so that each foot barely passes in front of the other.  But I see nothing.  The rush of ongoing pedestrians pushes me along to my next class that will start promptly at 11:00.
I cannot forget the laminated sign.  I continue to muse over its message through the entirety of the day.  Was I not worthy to see the evidence of magical land?  Did I not have a strong enough conviction or enough faith in its existence?  Those present and able to see the post are all unworthy, for we continued on with our mundane lives, while an invitation to a real-life fantasy appeared before us.  All I gave as conviction was a second look and weak curiosity; my toes still pointed toward daily responsibility.  I have no excuse.  When faced with a choice between ordinary and incredible, I made the wrong one.
Then I consider the sign being only a fragment of my imagination or only visible to me.  It didn't seem as though any other person saw it.  The sign called me to Narnia, posted on an iconic lamppost, and I ignored the calling.  Next I consider my bravery.  Ignoring the call could be a testament of my lack of bravery.  Armies of intelligent, talking animals were waiting for me to lead them in the fight for freedom, or perhaps to save them from peril.  Hearts were broken and blood was shed during the hour I sat scrolling through Pinterest in my Living with Plants class.  This proves I have no guts for adventure, only fingertips for browsing.