thinking: about the blessing of mileage

A friend of mine has just started a new business - a genuine wine and cigar "bar" in Brighton, Michigan. It's already getting some great press. You should go there. But that's not why I'm writing this.

I know the guy who owns it. He is, as one of my Irish ancestors would say, a mensch. Such a man as operates this genuine wine and cigar "bar" you will rarely find, even if you lift up rocks in the search for said brand of fellow.

I know him from Way Back When, and I know a little about the trip he's taken to get to where he is today.

I don't envy him that trip.

Looking at the Facebook page dedicated to his new venture there is a picture of this man, smoking a cigar, looking quite content. When I see that look of contentment on his face, I know it's something he's paid for, and paid dearly.

Whatever joys and sorrows have come his way have created a man of substance who occupies a still point in a moving world, as Eliot would describe it.

It's not the years, it's the mileage. Sorry, Indiana, I'm going to borrow that line.

He's earned that cigar. Now you need to go buy one from him so you can reflect on the benefits of the miles you've racked up.