On Convenient Ships

The remarkable thing about avoidance is its punctuality. The calling is vague, demanding, poorly lit; the escape is specific, ticketed, departing at four. No one ever fled toward ambiguity. We flee toward itineraries.

So a rule I am learning to keep: when an opportunity appears at the exact moment an obligation becomes uncomfortable, and the opportunity is unusually well-organized, I sit down. I wait a day. Convenience, in my experience, is the perfume the wrong boat wears.

This is not superstition. It is pattern recognition applied to my own record. Every ship I have ever regretted boarding was easy to board. The things that made me were, without exception, inconvenient.