The five hundredth time she tripped, he finally sneaked in a snicker or two. What could she do? The mysterious roadblock seemed to have cropped up from nowhere. Or was it those invisible cables?
Amidst her protests of "Jalega, jalega" (it will burn, it will burn), he joked, "Baby, you give an entirely different meaning to baby-proofing the house."
To say life hands out important lessons like people hand out advertising pamphlets on street would be a cliche one must avoid. More than that, at each iteration, every single definition one has ever learnt gets trashed. One constantly reinvents, redefines. What I am yet to figure is, as one starts paying attention to the little details, does the learning get more trivial, more ordinary? Or is it just that as the greatness of old tasks seems extremely easy one gets more time to fret over the inconsequential stuff?
Take for instance, courage.
At a certain point of time, it's no longer about whether after a nasty fall, you can get up and walk back home, blood streaming down your face. That becomes easy. As trivial as it may seem, it seems to be about whether you have the courage to go to work on Monday morning, and answer the gazillion questions about the scab.