Recently, a woman stopped me in front of the grocery store and asked me for change.
“Please,” she said, “I'm homeless. I swear I am; look at my hands, look how cracked and dirty they are. I'm seven months pregnant.” She was talking a mile a minute and shaking.
I gave her money and the bag of chips I was about to tear into myself. I was glad to give her money. But there were four homeless men on my walk home who I avoided eye contact with.
I can't give money to everyone, right?...
Several weeks ago, I boarded a plane to my current home. As I watched the frozen Northeastern ground grow smaller and a flight attendant glance around before surreptitiously sniffing a perfume sample in the SkyMall magazine, I thought of my destination, and how it differs from where I've been.