I was in Mexico for a couple days last week with long-time close friends (a couple with a small child), and some new ones.

A good time was had by all, I think, except I probably brought the mood down by talking for a bit about the third anniversary of Peter's murder. That's perhaps a bad call to bring up with new friends.

Besides just hanging out with everyone, the highlight for me was seeing my friends' little girl run for a short distance on the edge of a golf course, with her arms outstretched and a smile as wide as the Mississippi, to her father, wanting to be picked up. The emotional and physical honesty of a small child is remarkable. The purity of the moment was almost magical, especially when you remember that when most of us get older, we become more guarded with our emotions and we don't run towards our parents with our arms outstretched, to be picked up. Even if we felt like doing so, our parents can't pick us up after a certain age anyway.

The new friends who were with us in Mexico are a terrific couple who are incredibly easygoing, friendly, funny, and cheerful. They also happen to have a net worth in the high eight to low nine digit range, but you would never know it by hanging out with them.

They had great stories about working with Mother Theresa, spending time in refugee camps in Pakistan, and other such adventures that are often available primarily to the very wealthy and the very poor.

Most embarrassing moment: When we were boarding the plane at LAX, I realized that I while I been upgraded to the pointy end of the plane, my traveling companions had not. (Simply by virtue of my many trips and "status" on Alaska Airlines, I automatically get upgraded if they have room. It's nothing to be proud of; it means I have spent too many nights away from home.)

But when your new friend has a NW that's approaching nine figures and he's six inches taller than you and he's in coach, and you're in first class, what would Emily Post say? I somewhat awkwardly offered him my seat...he politely declined...he was in a tough situation, because taking my seat would have meant leaving his wife in coach. When I walked back to check on my friends mid-flight, he was jammed into his little coach seat, looking sardine-like. I felt horrible, but what can you do?

Upon getting to know them better over the next couple days, I realized that these folks probably didn't care much about the coach/first class thing, but when it happened, it was one of those moments that absolutely makes you cringe. I know, I know...if these are my worries, I need to stop whining, pronto. So I will, and this entry is over.