We went to visit my best friend in Boston this weekend. Our direct flight there was delayed an hour due to bad weather in Boston. On the way home, we had to fly from Boston to DC then to Raleigh. Again, the weather had delayed flights all day, causing ours to be about three hours late. Needless to say, we missed the connecting flight to Raleigh and were effectively stranded in DC until our 7am flight the next morning. We’ve traveled a lot, but this had never happened before.
The guy at the desk where we booked the flight said that hotel vouchers were only issued for mechanical problems (ie—when the delay is the fault of the airline, not the forces of nature). But he said we could go to the Baggage Service desk downstairs and get a coupon for a discount at a hotel. We thought we’d check it out, because if it wasn’t too expensive, it would sure beat spending the night at the airport. The guy running the Baggage Service desk was unsure of what exactly to do and we ended up with a hotel voucher instead of just a discount. We didn’t
lie to get it, but we sure didn’t tell him he wasn’t supposed to be issuing us a voucher. Sometimes the system’s incompetence and bureaucracy screws you, but sometimes it benefits you. I figure it all evens out in the end.
With surprising ease, we took the free shuttle to the Hyatt, checked in, and had about 6 hours of sleep in a nice bed before taking the free shuttle back to the airport the next morning. I should also note, as I had previously complained about hotel rooms, that the one at the Hyatt was more interesting and better-decorated than the generic hotel room I’m used to. The art on the walls was abstract, of course, but at least it had bold colors and lines instead of the pastel blurriness that adorns the walls of my typical room.
We couldn’t get over how lucky we were. We had been preparing to stay in the airport all night, rent a car and just drive home, or perhaps take a taxi to a far away crappy motel we could afford. All the choices were either expensive or uncomfortable or both. Instead, we ended up with a very nice room for free. The only draw back was that we didn’t have a decent supper or breakfast. I had two packs of my emergency instant oatmeal with me though, and I used the hot water from the in-room coffee maker to cook a cup for supper and another for breakfast. It was a bit surreal to “drink” my oatmeal out of a
coffee cup, as I had no utensils. I was lucky I even still had them, since I only brought two with me, and my stomach trouble had tempted me to use them many times, but I held out thinking I might really need them later. (I always do this, to the point of absurdity—where I never use things that would have been very helpful at the time. In this case, I was vindicated.)
I write about my traveling travails to illustrate a point. Hang in there. It’s coming.
This incident reminded me of a time in my childhood when my crazy grandma (please note: both of my grandma’s are religious; this one is deemed “crazy” because of her personality) told me about her tire blowing out in her car while she was driving. She insisted, in a very preachy way, that this was proof God was looking out for her, because she didn’t get hurt. Even at a young age and as a believer, I remember thinking, but not saying, “How do you know God wasn’t trying to kill you by blowing out your tire? Maybe it was the tire or car manufacturer that actually saved you.”
This same thought pattern emerged in one of my students’ stories, summarized here: A girl gets injuries approximately every two years while growing up, culminating in a bike accident at age eight where she fell off her bike and broke her jaws (it would have been worse but she was wearing a helmet). The accident occurred right in front of a nurse’s house; her mom reveals that it must be her grandpa Frank in heaven watching over her.
Insert my same critique of my crazy grandma’s story: How do you know your grandpa Frank isn’t trying to kill you, hence the recurrence of bike crashes, and that maybe it is the helmet manufacturer, via capitalism, that is watching over you?
The troublesome thought pattern, which is very common, goes like this: Something bad happened, but it wasn’t as bad as it could have been, therefore some celestial being must be watching out for me. I am special, and that is why I survived.
I could apply the same thought pattern to my relatively trivial experience of airport delays this weekend: God was watching out for us and gave me a premonition to not eat my oatmeal. He also caused the confusion that led the Baggage Service guy to issue us a voucher instead of a coupon. But I don’t think that’s what happened, and here’s why: I’m ok with the idea that life is random.
Many people aren’t comfortable with the idea that some things don't happen for a reason. They need to believe there must be reasons. But of course, they don’t follow all the way through with the logical progressions of their thoughts. If grandpa Frank was watching out for her, why wasn’t he, or other grandpas, watching out for all the other little girls who died in bicycle accidents? Why was God watching out for my grandma with the flat tire, but not the holocaust victims? But I don’t think people think it all the way through and see the absurdity of their beliefs. They just believe, “I survived, I probably shouldn’t have, therefore a supernatural force is protecting me.” They don’t think about all the other people who probably should have lived, but died.
Here is how I understand that life can be random. All of us, at some time, have either purposely or accidentally killed an insect. Maybe the ant was on the sidewalk and I accidentally stepped on it. Maybe the spider was in the bathroom and I purposely killed it and flushed it down the toilet. Maybe the beautiful butterfly was flying over the highway as my windshield slammed into it. Even President Obama recently impressed the populace by his astute fly-killing ability. Nobody stops to think about why insects live or die, or our role in their life and death. It just happens. As my flip flop or windshield is to the insect, so the world is to us. I don’t judge the morality of an insect before killing it just as an earthquake doesn’t target a specific person. I don’t think God is using me as a vehicle for killing insects any more than he works in mysterious ways through cancer or tornadoes to kill some and spare others. Frankly, I don’t think god exists.
This doesn’t mean life is pointless. There are many things we can do to improve our chances—like the adaptations of insects. But there is also an element of it we can’t control and that has no rhyme or reason, and we have to accept that and stop making up silly stories.
The guy at the desk where we booked the flight said that hotel vouchers were only issued for mechanical problems (ie—when the delay is the fault of the airline, not the forces of nature). But he said we could go to the Baggage Service desk downstairs and get a coupon for a discount at a hotel. We thought we’d check it out, because if it wasn’t too expensive, it would sure beat spending the night at the airport. The guy running the Baggage Service desk was unsure of what exactly to do and we ended up with a hotel voucher instead of just a discount. We didn’t
lie to get it, but we sure didn’t tell him he wasn’t supposed to be issuing us a voucher. Sometimes the system’s incompetence and bureaucracy screws you, but sometimes it benefits you. I figure it all evens out in the end.With surprising ease, we took the free shuttle to the Hyatt, checked in, and had about 6 hours of sleep in a nice bed before taking the free shuttle back to the airport the next morning. I should also note, as I had previously complained about hotel rooms, that the one at the Hyatt was more interesting and better-decorated than the generic hotel room I’m used to. The art on the walls was abstract, of course, but at least it had bold colors and lines instead of the pastel blurriness that adorns the walls of my typical room.
We couldn’t get over how lucky we were. We had been preparing to stay in the airport all night, rent a car and just drive home, or perhaps take a taxi to a far away crappy motel we could afford. All the choices were either expensive or uncomfortable or both. Instead, we ended up with a very nice room for free. The only draw back was that we didn’t have a decent supper or breakfast. I had two packs of my emergency instant oatmeal with me though, and I used the hot water from the in-room coffee maker to cook a cup for supper and another for breakfast. It was a bit surreal to “drink” my oatmeal out of a
coffee cup, as I had no utensils. I was lucky I even still had them, since I only brought two with me, and my stomach trouble had tempted me to use them many times, but I held out thinking I might really need them later. (I always do this, to the point of absurdity—where I never use things that would have been very helpful at the time. In this case, I was vindicated.)I write about my traveling travails to illustrate a point. Hang in there. It’s coming.
This incident reminded me of a time in my childhood when my crazy grandma (please note: both of my grandma’s are religious; this one is deemed “crazy” because of her personality) told me about her tire blowing out in her car while she was driving. She insisted, in a very preachy way, that this was proof God was looking out for her, because she didn’t get hurt. Even at a young age and as a believer, I remember thinking, but not saying, “How do you know God wasn’t trying to kill you by blowing out your tire? Maybe it was the tire or car manufacturer that actually saved you.”
This same thought pattern emerged in one of my students’ stories, summarized here: A girl gets injuries approximately every two years while growing up, culminating in a bike accident at age eight where she fell off her bike and broke her jaws (it would have been worse but she was wearing a helmet). The accident occurred right in front of a nurse’s house; her mom reveals that it must be her grandpa Frank in heaven watching over her.
Insert my same critique of my crazy grandma’s story: How do you know your grandpa Frank isn’t trying to kill you, hence the recurrence of bike crashes, and that maybe it is the helmet manufacturer, via capitalism, that is watching over you?
The troublesome thought pattern, which is very common, goes like this: Something bad happened, but it wasn’t as bad as it could have been, therefore some celestial being must be watching out for me. I am special, and that is why I survived.
I could apply the same thought pattern to my relatively trivial experience of airport delays this weekend: God was watching out for us and gave me a premonition to not eat my oatmeal. He also caused the confusion that led the Baggage Service guy to issue us a voucher instead of a coupon. But I don’t think that’s what happened, and here’s why: I’m ok with the idea that life is random.
Many people aren’t comfortable with the idea that some things don't happen for a reason. They need to believe there must be reasons. But of course, they don’t follow all the way through with the logical progressions of their thoughts. If grandpa Frank was watching out for her, why wasn’t he, or other grandpas, watching out for all the other little girls who died in bicycle accidents? Why was God watching out for my grandma with the flat tire, but not the holocaust victims? But I don’t think people think it all the way through and see the absurdity of their beliefs. They just believe, “I survived, I probably shouldn’t have, therefore a supernatural force is protecting me.” They don’t think about all the other people who probably should have lived, but died.
Here is how I understand that life can be random. All of us, at some time, have either purposely or accidentally killed an insect. Maybe the ant was on the sidewalk and I accidentally stepped on it. Maybe the spider was in the bathroom and I purposely killed it and flushed it down the toilet. Maybe the beautiful butterfly was flying over the highway as my windshield slammed into it. Even President Obama recently impressed the populace by his astute fly-killing ability. Nobody stops to think about why insects live or die, or our role in their life and death. It just happens. As my flip flop or windshield is to the insect, so the world is to us. I don’t judge the morality of an insect before killing it just as an earthquake doesn’t target a specific person. I don’t think God is using me as a vehicle for killing insects any more than he works in mysterious ways through cancer or tornadoes to kill some and spare others. Frankly, I don’t think god exists.
This doesn’t mean life is pointless. There are many things we can do to improve our chances—like the adaptations of insects. But there is also an element of it we can’t control and that has no rhyme or reason, and we have to accept that and stop making up silly stories.
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