Computers are “special”: on each flight, we passengers choreographed a rotation so travel companions could actually sit together. At one point I appreciated surprise help from the guy next to me. He said, “Take that first offer; a window seat gives you negotiating power.”
Ain’t it the truth? These days, if you don’t want the dregs, you’d better play your cards shrewdly. When it comes to letting the other guy go first, I’m notorious. (It’s a mom thing.) But with the thought of David sitting beyond reach for a bumpy 6 hours, all bets were off: I wielded that window seat with finesse.
As I drove through town today, I got a kick out of a guy getting the most bang for his buck. Ordinarily when I’m at a highway junction I don’t even read the text on the handheld cardboard sign. But this one, I couldn’t miss: “Traveling. Broke. Ugly.” Hahaha! Not only were people holding ones out their windows, they were engaging him in conversations through the red light. Maybe it was because (other than a big nose) he wasn’t ugly; possibly they wanted to know if he was really traveling. (Even I was somewhat curious.)
As I ventured toward suburbia, I pondered that corrugated message: “Traveling. Broke. Ugly.” Yup, that pretty much sums up all of us. In the giant scheme of things, we’re all on a relatively short pilgrimage. And most of us, despite our real estate and other trappings, are as close to a debt ceiling as the country we live in. And finally, in all honesty, how many of us fall into the “beautiful people” category? Yeah, face it: we are all 3-for-3—just like that smart-aleck, spare-changing on the interchange.
On the positive side, there’s hope: If we clean up good, ugly doesn’t matter; if we’re not ridiculous with our funds, we can manage; and if we repent toward God, we can be traveling in the right direction. So… Traveling. Broke. Ugly. It’s all good.