At 60 years old, I just learned that an emery board serves two purposes. One side shapes with coarse grit, the other smooths with pumice. The sandpaper side is the only one I’ve ever used – even when my goal is to buff out the burrs. And I wondered why I still snagged my hose.
So I try to imagine a life where I had paid better attention, read instructions, listened to my mother, chose a love that did not rough me up. But there’s no antidote for being human, ever impressed with our illusions of knowing.