Dylan on a Sunday

I was walking through London's Heathrow Airport this morning and heard Dylan's, Life is Hard, coming from a nearby eatery of some sort. Dylan is far from mood music and Life is Hard is not the most obvious selection. So, I was surprised and pleased.

In transit from Uganda, there is little question in my mind that life is hard, and that mine is easy. Do the math. Mine might not qualify as life. I was a little ashamed and embarrassed by how happy I was to see the Starbucks as I arrived in the departure gates here in Heathrow. If I had steeled myself against it, I could've mustered some indifference and perhaps some longing for the smells of the Jinja market, or a cup of chai in a mud hut with my new friend Elijah. I could've convinced myself that I don't mind rocks in my rice.

But I couldn't help it. There in all its glorious gleaming green was the Starbucks siren. Back to non-life.