Some days, I wake up feeling like the world has wrapped me in a foggy, melancholy blanket. This particular weekday morning was one of those. Hoping to shake it off, I set off for downtown Wilmington to meet my friend Island Irv, fully expecting coffee and camaraderie to lift my spirits.
When you cross the Memorial Bridge, the road drops you off right onto the streets of downtown without breaking a sweat. You're immediately embraced by the city's charm, though I’ll admit that the suddenness with which you arrive can leave even the most seasoned traveler blinking and shaking the coconut.
My downtown excursions are usually reserved for lazy Sunday mornings, not the midweek hustle. But this wasn’t a usual day—I needed a pick-me-up, and Cafe Luna was my go-to.
The plan was simple: grab coffee, caffeinate my mind, slap the Islander on the back, and get Ms. Wonder to Oak Island in time for low tide. On Holden Beach we would join other like-minded treasure hunters scouring the sands for buried bounty, or as Wonder calls it, sea biscuits. But plans, as you are aware, have a way of unraveling.
I arrived at the cafe, and scanned the street for Irv’s car--nothing. Not a trace. My spirits, already teetering, leaned like the famous tower. I entered the cafe and found it buzzing with energy—the hum of conversation, the hiss of espresso machines—but I felt oddly alone. There was no Irv.
What now? Early mornings aren’t my strong suit. My brain doesn’t hit its stride until the late afternoon, so I was at a loss. But some instinct led me through a door at the back of the lobby, and I found myself in a large room dominated by an enormous mural stretching across one wall. Baristas bustled beneath the mural, serving drinks to the caffeinated masses.
I wandered to the counter and unburdened myself to a friendly barista, spilling the whole sorry tale. He nodded sagely and suggested a “quantum leap,” a concoction of his own invention. He assured me it was the kind of drink that could get a rabbit in shape to take on a grizzly bear.
I dimly remembered hearing that story somewhere else in a faraway time. Perhaps I heard it in another universe. (If you're unfamiliar with the bit of transdimensional skulduggery involving the multiverse, stay tuned; I'll explain in another episode. For now, it's enough to know that the bears in the matchups never make it past three rounds.)
Desperate times call for desperate measures, someone said, and so I ordered a double. The man was not wrong. By the time I finished the second, the fog had lifted, and the scene around me was warm and bright. Outside, the day seemed new. My feeling of being alone and lost was replaced by a buoyant sense of possibility, and I felt braced to take on the day.
Back on the street, I felt infused with the city’s energy. The streets were alive—people bustled as if it were some reasonable hour, tramcars overflowed with commuters, and a palpable buzz filled the air.
At first, the sheer activity was jarring, but soon it felt invigorating. There’s something about Wilmington—maybe it’s the salt air or the hidden pockets of charm—that makes you feel that anything is possible.
Mick Jagger was spot on when he commented about looking for things. You don't always find what you want but you often find what you need.
I walked into that cafe looking for a friend and a cure for my low spirits. Irv wasn’t there, but I found something unexpected: a moment of connection with a kind barista, a jolt of caffeine-fueled inspiration, and a reminder that even on the greyest mornings, a little adventure can turn your whole day around.
It reminds me of something we learned from our cats, and I'm speaking of the Chatsford Tribe. Long after they left pawprints on the furniture, their lessons still linger in our hearts and minds. The sweet truth they left with us is this:
Life is better when you embrace it with curiosity and a healthy dose of mischief. And if you ever need help, accept the help that comes to you, no matter its source.