Humility

I drove a '97 Jeep Grand Cherokee for my first 3 years as a licensed driver. (Yes, licensed is a key word there.) That thing had rust...dust...cobwebs and mice living in it, and it was absolutely wonderful. Never broke down (to the point I couldn't fix...or duct tape), never got in an accident, just loudly rolled around on the road for 3 glorious years.

That thing kept me humble. I now drive a BMW, but let me tell you, I needed those three years. You think your hot shit right out of driving school.

I've been working hard to try and relate this to something with the correct level of irony. Rubber band? Operant Conditioning? Here's my poor attempt:

I feel as though I've been climbing through a reasonably untrodden path in the forest of my life (we can hypothetically call that path....Love. Hypothetically, of course). A while back I was similarly climbing, and I held a branch out of my face, but it slipped, and smacked me in the face. Ouch, not cool. Next time, whats up, ya learn. Ya hold the branch a little tighter, grab it with a little more force and purpose, if you so dare to test it's own strength after all.

Who gets smacked a second time but me? Of course?

The only possible way of chalking any of this up to anything is that, hey. Sometimes we need a good smack. Keeps us humble.