Summer in Philadelphia means one thing: water ice season. If you're not from here, water ice is not Italian ice, it's not a slushie, it's not sherbet. It's its own thing and we take it very seriously — John's has been making it here since 1945. The location is two blocks from my house and I've started using the line formed down the street as a thermometer. Short line means it's a manageable heat day. When the line is a true city block long, it's a full scorcher. But the line itself is the best part. A grandmother with a stroller. A dog sitting better than most children. People on roller skates, bikes, scooters — every possible wheeled option represented. Two kids who may or may not have known each other ten minutes ago, mid-clapping game, fully committed. Everyone patient. Everyone waiting for the same thing. That's Philadelphia water ice. One line, every version of the neighborhood, and nobody in a hurry.

She didn't want her boss's job anymore. She didn't want to opt out either. She wanted something in between.

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Nobody hands you a pamphlet when your life shifts gears in your 50s. So she started keeping her own list. The unofficial one. The things she didn't see coming that turned out to matter more than she expected.

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Turns out it's not the art. Science has an actual explanation — and it has nothing to do with how many rooms you walked through.

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That's the whole ask.

There's something in it for you too.

Details below.

My answer:

I close the laptop earlier than I used to on Fridays. Then I go find something. No agenda. Just a direction.

Questions or Inquiries?