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Sometimes messages from the universe jump out at me, especially when I’m traveling and the signs are slightly different from what I’d see at home. Like the time I was in Australia visiting my sister and a bright yellow road sign said, Watch for Burning Bushes. At least, that’s what I thought it said. I attribute the egregious misreading to my preoccupation with the book of Exodus (the original, not the Leon Uris novel of the same name) as a fifteen-year-old recently born-again bible geek. Anyway, the sign, at second glance, said, “Watch for Turning Buses.” On my first visit to the university in Albuquerque, New Mexico, where I hoped to talk my way into the English department doctoral program, I drove past a sculpture of a wolf (a lobo, the university’s mascot) and a Welcome to UNM sign—hardly significant. However, after my promising conversation with the Graduate Director, I exited the university where the back of the welcome sign spoke to me: UNM. A Place In Your Future. I took it literally, though I had not yet been admitted, and framed that picture in my mind’s eye. In New Mexico, and many other states, drivers are warned of road hazards with signs like Dangerous Curves Ahead (now there’s a steamy short story title!) and the incongruous warning Do Not Enter If This Sign Is Under Water. Think about it. It’s kind of like the underside of a jar that bears the label, “Do Not Turn Upside Down.” I was feeling a little upside down on our recent trip to the British Isles. Jet lag notwithstanding, we had a lovely first week in Marylebone, visiting with friends, walking and boating in Regents Park, and marveling at art and architecture. But the Friday we checked out of the Blandford Hotel to meet up with our tour group at the Radisson Blū, I lost sight of my small carryon bag for a split-second as we changed trains in the Picadilly underground. Yes, I reported it. No, it was never found. Fortunately, my cash, credit cards, passport, and cheap, travel set of water-color paints were still in my purse. Waiting at the Radisson and feeling blū, I derived some small comfort from creating this little painting while sitting in the hotel bar drinking herb tea with lemon and honey and feeling sorry for myself over lost items, some of them irreplaceable. The theft will make for a good non-fiction piece one of these days, but I haven’t written it yet. How’s this for a title? “Prescriptions, Power Cords, and Prunes.” Oh, the joys of travel when you’re over 65. Losing the case precipitated much introspection, starting with “How could I be so stupid?” and a litany of other recriminations. Then came the parade of “Oh, no!” realizations. “Those beaded earrings were handcrafted!” “I don’t even have a toothbrush or deodorant!” [I bought them at Boots Pharmacy that afternoon.] “What if I can’t get a new Rx from Boots?” [I tried and couldn’t.] And so on. The next several days (onboard ship and touring small towns with our Road Scholar compatriots), I thought a lot about loss and how easily we can be thrown off course, emotionally. And because I couldn’t use my now-powerless computer (it rejected USB charging, and I wasn’t about to force the issue), I also had time away from my writing, my book. I had to let it go. [It wasn’t lost, just temporarily inaccessible.] By the time we reached our final destination, Edinburgh, I was ready to return home, yet felt like something intangible was missing. Some appropriate conclusion to the trip. So after checking out of the hotel, but before boarding the bus for the airport, I walked outside into the cool, sunny morning, saying aloud to no one but myself as I crossed the quiet street, “I want to approach my writing life and my mental and physical health in new ways. But how?” In the space of one short block, I found the answer. A sign. Right in front of me. This UK journey was ending and a new one beginning. Changed Priorities Ahead. No other signs indicated what might be different. No lane closures. No detours or flashing lights. Nothing to warrant a red and white warning in a quiet neighborhood. But there it was. I ran back to the hotel for my phone/camera (which I’d left in the lobby with my backpack with my suitcase—I know, the irony) under the watchful ey of my partner and travel companion, my very own Dr. Science. “They’re boarding the bus,” he said. “I know. I’ll be right back!” I rushed out, crossed the street, and snapped the photo.I had my priorities, after all. We returned home to the main street closest to our house in traffic pattern chaos with daily changes to orange-cone configuration. But my local computer store gave me a new power cord in exchange for a Google review of their business; a poet-friend invited me to be a featured “bard” in Taos at a poetry reading in June; two literary agents kindly declined the opportunity to represent my book to publishers; outside readers I hired to assess cultural issues in the memoir sent encouraging feedback; and two authors who each read a different chapter noted writing strengths and easy fixes. Something shifted. I guess I read that sign correctly. One of my changed priorities for In Our Own Ink: Write fast and hit publish! Dr. Penner & Dr. Science, arriving in Northern Ireland on the Ocean Albatros. Photo credit: Tommy Hatwell, 2025. What’s your sign? Want to share a changed priority? Leave a comment I know. The world is a mess. Many things we’d like to see treated as high priority are not. Rant-worthy issues abound and other writers are tackling them with powerful, urgent voices. Please read them, starting with The Counteroffensive with Tim Mak . In Our Own Ink │Andi Penner is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work as an indy writer, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.…