At what point do we become fearful? I wondered this exact question as I sprawled out on the couch-exhausted, reflecting on the several times that day my 18 month old daughter risked her own life without even knowing it. Attempting to dart down the front brick steps, attempting to dash up the stone walkway in the backyard, scaling the furniture until she was on top of the couch. I watched her energy and excitement for every new experience with admiration and trepidation at the same time. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that a small part of my inner being felt warmed by the vague remembering of how this wonderment felt.