I have been forgetting where I am lately. That sounds a bit funny but the fact is, I spend so much time on the road that one hotel begins to look like another. I will find myself walking into Target or Fazolis and forget briefly which city I am in. I am betting this is not unusual for heavy travelers. However, I believe this also illustrates a point, a realization I have come to in recent weeks. Location is actually relative. I always thought location was a vital aspect of life. For example, I could never handle living in South Florida with its tropical climate and constant humidity, or New Mexico with its sprawling lands of nothingness. But my childhood in CA only serves to prove that you can live among great beauty and not recognize it if you are miserable, so why can’t you live in ugliness and not recognize it if you are happy? Wherever you are, you go to work, to a home, to stores, and mostly they all look alike. Of course I would prefer if I never had to live in South Florida or New Mexico—or a host of other places I can think of—but an important lesson I have learned lately is that it really doesn’t matter where you are, it matters who you are.