I guess I don’t think the word good is good.
I’ve let it roam around in the back of my mind for a day or so, and it has collected nothing pungent, nothing crisp.
Picture an old wooden ruler you might find at a flea market. One that's been carried around in a carpenter’s pants pocket, or a child’s school pencil box. The edges are softly rounded off and the hash marks might even be worn away on the ends. To use it to measure anything accurately, you’d have to use the center and avoid the ends.
The word “good” is like that ruler. Its edges are worn away and it doesn’t measure meaning accurately any more.
We say good morning, good bye, good grief, good God, good plan, good to go, and if you start paying close attention to any conversation you’re a part of…or that you can overhear…it won’t take long before you hear someone or something being labeled good. We're compelled to label and the word “good” gets worked to exhaustion.
We’ll be right over.
It’s supposed to rain tomorrow.
Here comes the bus.
How are you?
We’re almost there.
Want more coffee?
No, I’m good.
Have a good day!