Stories From the Road: Money Can't Buy Passion

I guess this is technically a story from "home," because it didn't happen on my grandest road trip, but Philadelphia is about 60 miles from where I live, so...

I've wanted to take a day trip to Philly since I've been back east for the simple pleasures of just being in the city I love so much and of course, to see my beloved Flyers. Last Thursday happened to be the day.

I was able to score some pretty decent seats at a (relatively) affordable price, which was awesome, but in the past, I've been more than happy to get the cheap seats and sit among the "common folk." In hindsight, I don't regret doing this, but I'll think twice next time. Why?

Throughout the game, I found myself bridling my passion and enthusiasm because, well, it just wasn't resonating with most of the people around me. Granted, it was dollar pretzel night, so most of them were busy stuffing their faces, but the chatter that I did hear was not exactly inspiring on any level, at least to me. Behind me, three older gentlemen dressed in North Face-like half-zip sweaters were discussing their law firm's most recent merger. In front of me, two couples in brand new jerseys that looked like they were purchased minutes earlier were discussing selling their houses to buy bigger, better places. Listening to conversations like these? Not my idea of fun.

Finally, I just stopped caring and got loud. And borderline obnoxious. At least I managed to keep it PG. I noticed there were two guys doing the same thing several rows in front of me and one section over. I pointed them out with a sort of "I got you" gesture. We started to lead chants. We tried to get everyone excited. This continued through the third period with little success, when the Flyers came from behind and tied the game with just over a minute remaining. Finally everyone was psyched!

So, five seconds later, when everyone else sat down and the three of us were still standing, we met in the aisle, with an "us against the world" mentality for no reason whatsoever. Best friends for maybe a minute:

   

We then went back to our seats and carried on as we had been, and the Flyers ended up losing the game in a shootout, but it was fun, and I got my money's worth...

How do You Measure a Year?

Yea, I stole the title from that song from the musical "Rent." I just saw a TurboTax commercial claiming that taxes are the story of your year. Clever idea, but tell me, where will any of these fit in on a tax form? Scroll:

The answer? They won't. This isn't anywhere near every picture I took this year, and even pictures can't tell the whole story. The only person who knows the true story of my year and the only person who ever will know everything I've experienced is me, and those experiences, as I've said before, can't be measured by dollars and cents or written down in any way. I'm so thankful to have had them all, and I look forward to more.

I could go on a rant about taxes the likes you've probably heard thousands of times from other people, but basically, DON'T TRY TO GET ME EXCITED ABOUT FILLING OUT TAX FORMS!

I probably paid enough in National Parks admittance fees this year to cover myself.