Always I want to qualify things and I have not yet left behind a childish oversimplification in distinction: there is Good and Bad in the world.  Easy.  Gray in judgment leaves me feeling unfinished.  Even after 11 years of Travel I still find myself reverting to classifying all I trip upon with much deliberation but little variation of adjectives.

Most Different equaled Good to a younger me, bored of the Midwest and certain that something more exciting lay just beyond the river bend (Pocahontas reference intentional).  Strange, Weird, Confusing all made it into the Good category by their sheer otherness. Then some Different became Good by virtue of confusion.  That which discomforted my previously unquestioned suburban ethics was exalted rather than inspected too harshly.  In other words, anything done by any sort of formerly oppressed peoples, no matter how seemingly strange, must be Good at its core;  nonsensical only because of my ignorant failures.  Long live imperialists’ Noble Savage!  It made everything easier.  And in the heart of my backpacking social scene thinking Good of others meant others thinking Good of you; only the narrow-minded dare condemn otherwise.

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