I focus on a lot of things, trying to make the familiar connections, such as reach = grasp, fingers = brass ring, ideas = execution, courtesy = situation, tact = forthrightness, and the various balances--work/life, introversion/extroversion, and Diet Coke/water. I don't always succeed. I too often tote it up as if it were a competition. I look up, sometimes, and realize the law of unintended consequences, as well as the virtues of unlooked-for grace.
On my left hand, in the center of the palm, a small wart resides. I know that with will power, such things can be made to disappear. But the wart has become a favored imperfection. I think that my wart teaches humility, although I thought eighth grade did a good job of that already. Perhaps it teaches me about mountains--they look so large and hard to climb from below, and so distant and small from above.
If I had one wish, it would involve eating spaghetti-o's.