Across the street from me sits Popp’s Food Mart.
To most people, it’s just a little neighborhood store. To me right now, it has become something bigger.
It has become my goal.
I want to be able to walk across that busy street again without fear of rebreaking my sore ankle. I want to make it there on my own two feet, safely, steadily, and proud of every step it takes to get there.
The lady who runs the place knows me. Early this summer she even made me put a shirt on before shopping there, which still makes me smile. That’s the kind of place it is — close, familiar, real. Not some abstract destination. Not some grand mountain to climb. Just a little store across the street.
And yet right now, it feels like a mountain.
What do I want when I get there?
Milk.
Chocolate candy.
Maybe just the simple victory of making the trip at all.
Sometimes recovery doesn’t come down to huge speeches or dramatic milestones. Sometimes it comes down to a small, ordinary place that suddenly means everything. A doorway. A sidewalk. A crossing. A few painful steps that lead back into life.
That little store has become my marker in the distance.
Not someday.
Not in theory.
Not for a doctor’s chart.
For me.
When I can walk across that street and go into Popp’s Food Mart again, I’ll know I’ve taken back something important.
So that’s my goal.
And I intend to get there.
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