By Patricia Murphy
Hopeful
One day this week, Greenwich Avenue gave me something unexpected: hope. It was bright, the air crisp but warmed by the sun, the kind of day you lean your face back and breathe in the very privilege of being alive.
Work and life were frantic, and it was already almost 3 before I glanced up from my chair, stuck at home like so many, missing the arrival of spring, and I forced myself into the car for a brisk, restorative walk. My plan was to park at the top of the Avenue, so I could dash to the bottom and race back up, returning to our mid-country house—and yet another zoom call–within the hour.
Halfway, after I had barreled along the sidewalk at breakneck speed, my head down and feet so swift I barely noticed the bustle around me, I looked up and abruptly stopped.
On the lawn in the front of the Greenwich Arts building was a multi-colored, art deco sign: Hopeful. I’m not entirely sure what about this simple, retro-looking sign stopped me in my tracks, but it did, and I stood there for at least a minute, taking it in. Life, unnoticed just moments before, began to leap in front of me, shouting for my attention. To my surprise, there was much to see, and even more to understand. And my walk took on new meaning.
What occurred to me as I resumed a leisurely, meandering stroll was that it says something about a community that its statement to the world in the midst of a pandemic is a bold, multi-colored, art deco sign with the word Hopeful. Something nice and reassuring, reflecting a town that doesn’t languish in fear or negativity, but is instead resolute in its steadfastness, optimism and old fashioned good cheer.
And that’s what I saw when I actually took the time to look around. Little things.
A familiar courtesy: “I would forget my head if it wasn’t attached,” said a self-deprecating, mask-clad, grey haired lady when a helpful associate from Alice + Olive rushed onto the street with a forgotten bag. A reassuring glimpse into Gen Z: a giggling posse of uniformed teen girls going out of their way to hold the door at Brandy Melville. “My mom would kill me if I was rude,” said the slight, freckled leader, a little proud. The uplifting din of conversation, companionship and, above all, laughter, echoing from the scattered tables outside Mediterraneo—serving as a tonic to all of us happening by.
The resourcefulness of all of these people, I thought, as I wandered through Diane’s Books, which no pandemic in the world would make me disavow. And that’s it, isn’t it? Small businesses and the people who frequent them, here in Greenwich, and in quaint towns and big cities all over the world—confronted with a staggering obstacle and fierce head winds, find the creativity, courage and conviction to come back. And as important, keep our humanity—the little big things—the small kindnesses, the polite gestures, the relentless tilt towards joy—while doing it.
Talk about hopeful.
