Today at Harris Teeter, I spotted a neighbor.

Which got me thinking about my theory. I call it The Grocery Store Test.

When you see an acquaintance a few aisles away, do you:

1. Say hello and chat?

2. Pretend you never saw them and reroute?

Most people fall into one of these two camps. And, funny enough, they often marry their opposite.

As for me? I found myself making conversation by the sodas.

In the spring of 1997, on a quiet beach under the setting sun, I asked Jessica to marry me.

I’d hidden a conch shell along an empty stretch of sand. And inside was an oversized toy ring, one that flashed rainbow lights when pressed.

As we walked the shore, I slowly nudged her toward the shell. Then, with some of my best acting, I pretended to find it. “Wow, what’s this?” When I handed her the conch, my finger tapped the ring, and her face suddenly lit up with colors.

Before she realized what was happening, I had dropped to one knee. In my hand was a velvet box with the real sparkling jewel.

And thankfully, she said yes. An unforgettable evening.

Now, 27 married years and five grown kids later, she still wears that diamond. And the conch shell? It rests on a table in our bedroom.

This morning, our daughter Kate texted, “What are you guys doing for Valentine’s?”

My reply: “Every day is Valentine’s.”

I wasn’t joking.

February 14 reminds me of love stories. And ours? It will always be my favorite.

As a 10-year-old boy, I joined the Burlington Boys Choir.

We traveled up and down the East Coast, staying in host homes along the way.

To prepare us for these experiences, we took etiquette classes, learning how to represent our group with grace and poise.

I picked up lessons that have stuck with me for years: the proper order for silverware, dinner table manners, tying a necktie, writing thank-you notes, making a bed, folding a towel.

But one thing that was never covered? How to eat with chopsticks.

Today, at a Japanese restaurant with friends, I realized this gap in my education. I fumbled with those wooden sticks until, without a word, the waitress brought me a fork. Clearly, I looked helpless.

But by the end of the meal, I kept at it, little by little. It wasn’t graceful, but I managed. Wounded pride is a powerful motivator to grow.

Here’s to learning new life skills, at any age.

When I was in college, an older couple at my church made me an unexpected promise: they committed to send me money to help with my school costs.

No strings attached.

Their generosity floored me. And sure enough, like clockwork, a check arrived in my mailbox every month for an entire year.

Funny thing is, I didn’t know them all that well. Yet they sacrificed their finances to give me an opportunity for education. The only return on their investment? My well-being.

I’m still amazed when I think about it.

Now, consider your own life. When has someone opened a door for you that you couldn’t have stepped through alone?

Hold that thought, because this week I stumbled across something fascinating: the most common symbol in math, one which appears in 94% of mathematical expressions.

What is it? The equal sign: =

We use the humble = to represent connections between ideas, from programming functions to ethical principles. But what does “equal” actually mean? At first glance, it seems simple. But when you dig deeper, defining it gets complicated.

We don’t all have equal talents, resources, or experiences. So, there must be a greater meaning than absolute sameness. 

To me, making things equal should always be synonymous with love. When it’s applied in a world full of extreme differences, magic happens.

Love has this mysterious ability to “equalize” what is imbalanced. It transcends logic or intellect or even legislation. Love is the great =.

On one side of the equation, giving love requires sacrifice. On the other, receiving love provides opportunity.

So maybe the equation looks like this:
Sacrifice ↔ Love ↔ Opportunity

Or, expressed another way:
Sacrifice = Opportunity

And often, the “=” takes tangible forms, like the ones which arrived in my college mailbox, month after month, without fail.

Late one winter night in high school, I had to drive home from a friend’s house.

However, there was a problem: snow and ice. But how bad could it be? Just a few flurries, right?

My little Honda didn’t have much weight, and sure, there was the risk of hydroplaning. If you were an amateur. But at 17? I’d been driving for a whole year. Basically a pro.

My friend’s dad insisted on following me in his pickup. I didn’t think it was necessary, but fine. Off we went.

For the first ten minutes, everything was smooth, as expected. But then…

I hit a patch of ice. And the ‘ol Accord decided to put on a figure skating routine — a slip-sliding, stomach-lurching, 180-degree pirouette.

It all unfolded in slow motion. Total helplessness. Was I heading for a ditch? A tree? An upside-down disaster?

I braced for impact.

When I finally stopped spinning, I was staring into the truck’s headlights from the wrong lane. I caught my breath, gave an embarrassed wave, and drove back to my friend’s house to spend the night.

Lesson learned. Ever since, I’ve given bad weather the respect it deserves. I’m definitely built for warm climates.

Today, the office closed early thanks to ice-covered roads. Walking to my car, guess what popped into my head?

Yep. That fateful evening, many moons ago. When young Brian took an unexpected spin. Some things stick with you.

So I drove nice and slow on the way home. Call me grandpa, but I’ll leave the joyride stunts to someone else.

I’ve already had my thrill ride.

Anyway, how many days ‘til summer?