Good morning to the man on 7 1/2 Street

My new routine is waking up in the middle of the night, knowing full well I won't get back to sleep. I know I have a newsletter to get out and I generally can't wait to get started.

I'm trying to walk to the store each day to get a cup of coffee. For most of the pandemic I'm driven this distance. I'm trying to break myself of that habit. I live alone and I like the brief human contact. I've gotten to know the clerk over the past while and I wanted to hear this morning about her trip to see her new granddaughter.

As I'm walking in the morning dark, I'm struck by how warm it still is, despite the fallen leaves. There are still crickets, but they're faded now. I'm enjoying the silence before everyone wakes up.

I am walking down a narrow city street that seems more like a country lane. There are many different kinds of houses ranging from stark brick duplexes to what appears to be from the mid 19th century. There are empty lots where a trailer and a house were removed.

In ten years, this will all look different.

My morning contemplation is shattered as I hear two runners behind me, their conversation audible even as they dozens of feet behind me. They are loud.

They run past. One man shouts "GOOD MORNING" and I'm taken aback. I'm just trying to walk quietly. I generally like salutations of this kind, but it's dark and people live on this street.

Another runs past. "Good morning!"

And another. And another. A woman with a dog plays music loudly, like she's running through a party. The group are distanced from each other, mostly and my initial annoyance gives way to amusement as I feel the energy of these people. I think, maybe I should run again.

I've not run in over a month and feel like it won't happen anytime soon. Not yet. Telling me to run will only make me double down on not running. It's funny how the brain of a depressive works that way. It's funny how I know myself, and how I've spent most of the year challenging myself, pushing myself to change.

Now I've changed my life and am trying to create a job for myself. There are 455 people who have subscribed to my newsletter, and I'm confident I will grow that number.

All I want to do for the rest of my life is document this place, this place that annoys and amuses me. As the leaves fall, I look forward to the coming spring and seeing this place all come to life once more. That's only a few months away. There may be cold dark days ahead, but I know that I'm part of a community that will get through it together. And I'll write about that, too.

1Julia McDonough