Vague recollections of something Jess and I were talking about around three in the morning:

When I was a kid, our summers were spent at the cottage. I must have fallen and skinned my knees on the seawall a million times (and I’ve got the scars to prove it), but pretty much each and every time I’d be back outside being reckless and having fun within 10 minutes of my mother dressing the wound. Kids have this amazing ability to have fun and do things they want to do utterly irrespective of pain that they know isn’t just possible, but even likely, and to bounce back from the pain when it does show up.

But so many adults seem to squander so many opportunities for joy and happiness because they know they might get hurt. And yet this isn’t a necessary part of growing up, but somehow there’s some kind of resignation.

And if ever there were an instance of the pot calling the kettle black, this is it.

In other news, my apartment now has the coolest chess set ever created.