11/20: Red-rock ‘n’ roll

I have a love/hate relationship with traveling.

I hate padding around in my stocking feet in front of strangers at the airport. And I hate having to carefully mete out my toiletries so they fit in a quart-sized plastic bag. But I absolutely love sitting at the airport and observing the fundamental commonalities of human nature. I also love it’s even possible to wake up in one city and fall asleep 3,000 miles away, none the worse for wear.

Thanks to this modern wonder, this evening I saw Sedona’s famous red rocks for the first time, and I spotted Steven Spielberg at the grocery store. (He was wearing blue jeans and a red rain jacket, and was aimlessly wandering in the bread and dairy sections like a lost puppy.) Two brushes with fame and greatness in one evening. What will the rest of the week bring?

Hopefully, lots of great stories.

If I’d had the courage to approach Mr. Spielberg—and if I’d had the audacity to invade his privacy—I would have told him that I think he’s one of the most extraordinary storytellers of our generation.

In fact, I can think of no better compliment. His stories have shaped my life and my perceptions as surely as my own experiences.

I consider this a very auspicious beginning to my journey.

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