The huge moments in life seemed like they should have more ceremony and effects. The important words—the life-changing ones—should echo a little. But they didn’t.—James S.A. Corey
This nails the gap between our narrative expectations and lived reality. Stories taught us to expect fanfare when life pivots—music, meaningful pauses, atmosphere. Instead, the life-changing stuff wears ordinary clothes.
Significance runs on delay. A casual conversation becomes the moment you met your spouse. A routine doctor’s visit delivers news that reframes everything. A simple “yes” or “no” redirects decades. The magnitude exists in consequence, not presentation.
We build meaning backward, making certain moments sacred only after we see what followed. The brain has no significance detector. Everything comes through the same channels; meaning arrives later.
This flatness serves us. If every crucial moment demanded ceremony, we’d freeze. The ordinary wrapper lets us live our lives instead of performing.
Hindsight’s false clarity works the same way. We remember the words that changed everything, but we spoke and heard thousands of other words that same day. The echo comes from remembering, not speaking—when we finally know which words mattered.