But it's also true during an argument, after an embarrassment, while we're washing up. The shameful things, the painful things, that cramp and the ongoing nuisance of myopia - who put those things in the gift box? And why?
To speak of life as having a purpose means sooner or later acknowledging that the inconvenient details are also there for a reason. What good is the anger that you later regret? The clumsy moment that you hate to remember? What is their gift?
Bright morning. Crystal-clear in the near distance, but the other side of the valley is silver-grey, mist-coloured on a clear day. A quality of the air? Just a reminder of its presence?