A thin, crispy crepe filled with fresh strawberries two days in a row because I have learned crepes have far fewer calories than I ever dreamed.
Hannah’s gold mules.
Finding out the tingling in my arms and legs is not a blood clot after being sent to the hospital by Urgent Care. Taking myself to breakfast at Green Kitchen afterward, loading up on lean proteins and vegetables and green tea to combat the anxiety they tell me is indeed coursing through my veins.
Almost being blown to shreds by a sudden gust of wind on Amsterdam Avenue, shivering and trying to call a Lyft, only to look down at the map on my phone and accidentally quip “Are we where we are?” At once, it is both a statement of confusion and an accidental lapse into philosophy.
A date with absolutely no chemistry to remind you what the ones loaded with all manner of synthesis actually feel like. Googling ‘chemical reactions’ to write such a statement.
A fucking incredible Caprese sandwich from Russo’s in Park Slope, bursting with sweet red peppers, tomato, and mozzarella, the bread just soaked enough for a soft yet chewy, balsamic-laden bite.
The parade of fluffy pups in the streets, in the parks, and on the sidewalks that come with a sudden burst of spring.
Taking myself to a fancy lunch at Chez Nick, unafraid of what the the oozing, greasy Cuban sandwich and French fries will do to my waistline because fuck it, I’ll just walk it off.
A thank you note from my roommate decorated with the drawing of a 1950s fashion model coated in glitter.
Reading the menu at O Cafe on Sixth Avenue and deciding what I will order the next time I’m hungry and in the neighborhood and craving something called ricotta toast.
Looking at and smelling perfumes I can’t afford from brands I’ve never heard of at Bigelow Chemist.
Walking past townhouses for sale in the West Village and wondering what it might be like to own one and live in it. Daydreaming about being left one in a will from a long-lost relative, as long as money for the property taxes is also included in the opportunity.
Short sleeve men’s shirts in a variety of tacky patterns (Melting popsicles! Pineapples! Flamingos!)
Petting the black cats at Enchantments on East 9th Street.
A challah grilled cheese and tomato soup from B&H. A fresh mozzarella sandwich with cold borscht at B&H. Carrying my B&H tote bag into B&H.
A magnificent museum or gallery exhibition that inspires you to make more of your own work (see: Adrienne Raquel’s ONYX at Fotografiska).
Picking up your camera for the first time, despite forgetting how heavy that lens is.
Sitting and reading quietly at Union Square to kill time before meeting a friend.
Walking into PANY for silk flowers and marveling at the exploding crayon box of colors--peach roses, magenta peonies, red hibiscus, none of which will ever die! And only need a slight dusting now and then. Walking around Manhattan with the flowers peeking out of your bag.
Finding a long out-of-print book you’ve always heard of but never expected to find on your first visit to a new used bookstore (Lulu in Hollywood by 1920s film star Louise Brooks at Sweet Pickle Books on the Lower East Side), even though god knows you don’t need more books but who cares?
Finding something to write about even when you didn’t think it was possible.