When you think of unbound happiness, what comes to mind?
And how do you get there - especially in a global pandemic?
Here's what I think of:
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| Mile 5,000 |
This was my first morning in Nice and my first overseas trip as an amputee. After an overnight flight and 22 hours in my prosthetic leg, I awoke to blue skies, French accents, and a park lined with olive trees.
A walk to the local boulangerie. A French café. And wait. It gets better.
Un croissant aux amandes. An almond croissant.
It's hard to believe one small pastry could make such a big difference.
That was 3 years, 3,000 miles, and a pandemic lifetime ago.
At Mile 8,825, France is a bit out of reach.
But South Philly? That's only a few steps away. Or technically, a short car ride.
At sunrise, Jasmine, Priti, and I head down in separate cars, caravan style. Donna and Jen meet us down there. We all wear masks.
Here in pandemic Philly I've learned to get out early. Sidewalks are empty. The sun is low. And mask-wearing is at the highest rate it'll be all day.
We pass 9th and Wharton, where cheesesteaks are already sizzling on the grill.
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| Despite skepticism, a middle-of-the-street selfie is just perfect here! |
We trail through the Italian market, which is surprisingly alive and well. It's true. Philly's got grit.
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| And this morning, it feels like I do too. |
How are you doing these days?
For me, finding a comfortable place in this uncomfortable world has been quite the challenge. Perhaps it's because I've lived through a traumatic injury. Or perhaps it's not. I know I'm fortunate. I'm healthy right now. I'm not facing fires, or storms, or eviction notices. And yet, in my mind, "being safe" and "feeling safe" don't always go hand in hand.
So I've been working to dismantle these fears one by one. To yank off their proverbial masks -- Scooby-Doo style, you know -- to figure out what's really high-risk, and what's actually not.
It's a new month and a new season. And I've got a new stumbling block -- a.k.a. "pandemic project."
I admit it's a good problem to have:
Getting take-out.
That's right. The neighborhood restaurants need us, and we need them too. I want to support local business. Plus, take-out is a treat. It's something I used to love. So why give that up? These days we need all the small happiness we can get. It's still out there, even as we continue to protect ourselves and others. We just have to find it.
Philly restaurants have been open outdoors for a while, and I admire their creativity in such difficult times. Yet when I think of eating out, it feels like an unnecessary risk. I even avoid walking past their tables on the sidewalk. There are too many respiratory droplets, too many unmasked people, too many variables I can't control.
But I don't like being afraid either.
So I've come up with a plan.
Any psychologists out there? Close your ears.
It's called CROISSANT THERAPY.
Pourquoi croissants?
Pourquoi pas?
Gotta start somewhere. And what's more motivating than an almond croissant?
Rien. Nothing.
Step one: Artisan Boulangerie in South Philly. The destination for today's morning miles.
They have the best almond croissants. I know this from experience.
We go way back -- to before the pandemic, before Nice, before the accident, before this whole journey began.
The boulangerie was a beloved part of my life BEFORE.
Of course, at Mile 8,825, it looks a bit different.
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| The line snakes down the block. |
I know. I know. We were expecting it. Lines are everywhere these days. And with social distancing, they look a lot longer than they actually are. Usually they stress me out, but not this morning. The weather is cool. I am ready. The croissants are worth the wait.
In no time, we're close enough to read the menu on the window.
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| I already know what I'm getting :) |
Inside the door, there's a space just large enough for a single customer and a sheet of Plexiglass.
Behind it, I spy the friendly face of Amanda, co-owner and boulangère. Even with my mask, she recognizes me immediately. I can tell she's smiling behind her mask too.
"It's been a long time!" she says. "How are you?"
Her husband André stirs cream into my coffee. From behind the counter, he asks about Mary and Chris, my usual croissant buds.
We talk for a minute, and I tell them both how happy I am to finally be back there again!
I order my usual -- an almond croissant -- and then move along so the rest of the line can have a turn.
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| Viola! Problem solved. Fear overcome. |
Well, not exactly.
If this were easy, we'd pull up some grass in a nearby park and enjoy a picnic breakfast together.
But instead we keep walking. My coffee splatters and drips down my wrist, and I laugh because I'm excited at this small victory, but I'm also out of practice -- carrying and walking at the same time. Still, I don't dare remove my mask to take a sip. Yet.
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| We carry our paper bags back to the cars. |
This is therapy, remember?
I've got a long way to go, as usual.
No worries. There are many more croissants in the city. And I'll taste every one if I have to. Maybe by the end, we'll have that French picnic after all!
Till then, I'll be up here on the balcony, trusting the process...
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| ...and thoroughly enjoying the first step. |
Bon appetit. And santé !
(Bisous to Jen, Donna, Priti, & Jasmine for the teamwork and the pics!)
Love this!
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