I have a niece who will turn one in August. She has already learned to walk and barrels around with determined self-confidence. I’m always amazed watching her. She’ll be heading straight towards her destination, and trip on something that knocks her down, or she’ll reach out to something for balance and find that it moves, and down she’ll go. But what I find remarkable isn’t the falling, it’s the getting up. Time and time again she’ll lose her balance and sit down hard or land on her hands and knees, and before I know it….she’s back on her feet — and usually giggling — as if falling is half the fun. I don’t know when that changes for us. I suppose it’s gradual…our first experience with real pain tells us whatever we were doing must not be good — our pride gets hurt, our expectations raise — and suddenly it’s not about the process but about the product. I watched my niece today and felt a little jealous. And I wondered if it would be possible to re-capture some of that childhood sense of total abandon — to throw myself at life with such fervor that even falling down is exciting.