THE SPOT

Author: THESPOTEDITOR

  • Why Bloggers Quit: Depression, Comparison & the Pressure to Be Positive

    Why Bloggers Quit: Depression, Comparison & the Pressure to Be Positive

    Blogging… When You Have Nothing to Give

    Hello.

    Those two of you who keep reading my posts might have noticed that I haven’t been writing as frequently as I did back in February or January. The truth is, I feel uninspired. How can — or should — you write something inspiring or vulnerable when you feel blue or gray?

    I always like to remember the phrase from the great Cameron Tucker: “I don’t think I would make a very inspiring disabled person.” Don’t get me wrong — I guess that since I’ve been struggling with depression, I technically have some sort of alternative ability. But honestly, sometimes it’s a struggle. I wanted this to be a place of joy. But sometimes it feels cumbersome to think about ideas, especially when your plans don’t pan out.

    It’s also frustrating when some of your ideas or plans don’t pan out. I can’t spare the funds for simple things I would like to do. Honestly, I want to go to Annecy. I would also love to see Genova. It’s been a long time coming — I planned a trip there in 2023, but lucky me managed to sprain my ankle, almost completely tearing two ligaments in my left foot, and was therefore more or less housebound. I could have gone, but Italy — like the rest of Europe — has a walking culture, which I love. You shouldn’t have to drive everywhere you go. That’s not ideal when your ankle is literally hanging on by a thread.

    The worst of my pity party is probably being on social media. I see women and men younger than me achieving dreams that I don’t dare to think of. It kind of hurts. It’s not that I don’t want to acknowledge their hard work — they had to do something to get where they are.

    But sometimes I wonder… why not me? I guess it’s simply entitlement. Simply feeling that maybe I should get a piece of the metaphorical success cake.

    Oh well.

  • Girl…Let’s talk about Weight! One Black Woman’s Honest Truth About Weight, Health & Emotional Weight

    Throwback to when 50 squats had nothing on me

    For as long as I can remember, I have been a bigger girl. Not My 600-lb Life big. But still too much.

    I recently got diagnosed with high Lp(a) — which stands for Lipoprotein a — a genetically inherited lipoprotein and a risk factor for cardiovascular disease, strokes, and other life-threatening conditions. I have to say, it didn’t come as a complete shock. My father suffered three strokes in the early 2000s, when he was in his late 40s. Doctors were shocked, though he has recovered significantly since then.

    Why Do I Feel So Lethargic?

    I’m still younger than my father was back then, and technically could do something about all of this. Granted, my Lp(a) can’t be changed — but I could still do something about it, right? Could.

    I feel like I’m choking alive when I think about just getting out of my seat. I’ve always had a tendency to be — in German we’d say träge — but just four years ago I was going to five workout classes a week, or working out regularly at home. Then, with the coming of fall and winter, all the stamina, happiness, and ambition made way for something hollow, deep: depression.

    “It also feels like my whole body is willingly holding onto all the weight. Like it’s afraid to let go of its shell.”

    So, even though I sit at home watching Michelle McDaniels or My 600-lb Life — watching where I could end up if I continue on this path — I can’t seem to break the cycle.

    Black Women and Obesity

    I hate to say it, but I am a stereotype. And the numbers bear it out.

    In 2024, Black women were 28% more likely to suffer from obesity than other adults in the US.¹ Black and African American girls were 55% more likely than their counterparts. The NHS also identifies Black women as among the groups most likely to be obese in England.²

    Poverty has to be acknowledged as one of the many reasons why Black women so often have to choose unhealthier options. As a former Black girl, I wanted to go to dance classes, wanted to have hobbies — but the intense emptiness of mom and dad’s bank account couldn’t make space for those things. I’m sure that’s the reality for a lot of young girls and women like me.

    And then there’s the system itself. The BMI — the tool used to measure body mass — was created by a white man and intended primarily for white men. The metric was invented by a Belgian mathematician, not a doctor, who didn’t even intend it to be a measure of individual health or body fat.³ Women and men are built differently. Black women and white women are built differently. The tool was never meant for us, and yet it’s used to define us.

    The Truth About My Situation

    I wish so much that I could be like the body positivity people I see on Instagram or YouTube. But I am not.

    Beyond the obvious aesthetic benefits of losing the weight I carry, I genuinely felt better when I was losing weight and reaching my goal weight. I was sleeping much better. I wasn’t winded walking up a flight of stairs. I wasn’t exhausted by the mere mention of working out. I was more positive — releasing happy hormones, watching my body change, feeling proud of what it could do. Fifty squats had nothing on me.

    So it pains me to have not only gained a lot of it back, but even more. I sit here wishing I had what I had back then. It’s difficult. When I think about it, I picture myself in a morning circle like the AA meetings in the movies: “Hi, I’m the SPOT Editor, and I emotionally regulate by eating.”

    It hurts to know that I could change something — but that my willpower feels nonexistent right now. And that’s the truth I’m sitting with today.


    ¹ Office of Minority Health — Obesity and Black/African Americans (Last accessed: 03/06/2026)

    ² NHS Digital — Ethnicity and Health 2011–2019: Overweight and Obesity (Last accessed: 03/06/2026)

    ³ World Obesity Federation — Body Mass Index: What is it really? (Last accessed: 03/06/2026)

  • Eibsee: Why This Bavarian Lake is Called the German Caribbean (Repost and Solo Travel Diary Part I)

    Eibsee: Why This Bavarian Lake is Called the German Caribbean (Repost and Solo Travel Diary Part I)

    Background

    I have talked about the German Caribbean before. It was long before I had decided what this blog was going to be about. Back then I was still trying to find my voice — trying to figure it out. Eventually, I decided that this blog would be about authenticity: the Good, the Bad, the Ugly. About my personal journey to joy.

    So I find it most fitting to repost this story. Not like the typical 1–10 list primarily consisting of recommendations about food or sleeping accommodations. More about the why, the how, and the feeling. I find that most fulfilling.

    So, here is the repost.

    In 2021, I was kind of tired of waiting. I was constantly waiting around for something to happen — waiting for people to join me in travels, for nights out in the city. Just waiting for life.

    So, after my dear friend told me about Eibsee, I was speechless. The pictures were amazing, and since my sister had already visited and loved it, I decided to go as well.

    The Journey

    I had booked the Garni Hotel zum Franziskaner. If you want to know more. It is a cozy B&B in Grainau, which is pretty close to the lake.

    To get to Grainau from where I lived, I took a high-speed train from Heidelberg main station directly toward Munich, getting off a couple of stations before the main station. Like always, I missed my intended connecting train, so I stayed on the platform waiting for the next one — at least 30–45 minutes. As mentioned, it was unfortunately quite cold. I was trying to keep myself warm, and while I was in the middle of losing weight at that point, I still gave myself the comfort of Burger King. I walked over to the nearest one and got a meal — don’t remember what exactly, just that it was worth it.

    Fortunately, the train eventually arrived. We rode past the Starnberger See. Bavaria has a lot of beautiful lakes, by the way — definitely worth checking out.

    I was in awe: the mountains, the lake, the idyllic ambiance. I was floating on a cloud, full of excitement for what was to come.

    We finally made it! I reached Garmisch-Partenkirchen — a quaint little city that actually felt more like a village. I walked over to the cab stand and talked to the first driver. He asked me in his very Bavarian dialect where I wanted to go. I seemed to have lost all ability to speak German, because I kept nodding along even though he was asking whether my hotel was in Garmisch — apparently the name the locals use for the city.

    I corrected him eventually, and he said in a no-nonsense way that I should have spoken up immediately.

    Well, too bad, so sad. We still made it. He gave me his card, and then I checked in.

    First things first… radiator up, Burger King devoured. Happy to be there! More to come in Part II.

  • Beauty of Life: An Original Poem About Finding Joy in Everyday

    Beauty of Life: An Original Poem About Finding Joy in Everyday

    Disclaimer: The featured image has been created with AI.

    This is a poem that I wrote in 2017, full of hope for my future. Still a student living with my parents, working and hoping to finally become independent. I was reminded of this poem when I started listening to Olivia Dean’s “Easy to Love”. I just love her style, music essence. It makes me nostalgic, makes me think about the time I laid in bed, reading Jane Austen’s “Pride and Prejudice”, the time I had a mozzarella sticks phase and ate them every weekend in 2019 and how I think about all of my solo trips whether Bavaria, Spain or Greece. Anyway, here it goes:

    Seeing children smile, 

    Just relax for a little while.

    Gazing at the stars in the middle of the night,

    Curtains letting in the morning light.

    Sunday lazy morning teas,

    Walking through colorful autumn leaves.

    Reading books on rainy days,

    loving yourself in many ways.

    The Beauty of Life is here, is now, is you, is me, tomorrow, is forever.
    Written by THESPOTEDITOR


  • Strasbourg Travel Diary Part III: Romanticizing Life in France’s Fairytale City

    Strasbourg Travel Diary Part III: Romanticizing Life in France’s Fairytale City

    Idyllic city

    Welcome back! If you aren’t privy to what this story is about, check out both Part 1 and 2.

    Anyway, new day… new opportunities. I got up and took a looong hot shower. Since, I didn’t add breakfast to my reservation, I needed to go into the city to find something to eat. I got dressed and here we go.

    Strasbourg city

    I hopped on the tram and arrived in the city centre about ten to fifteen minutes later. The inner city was idyllic — and unfortunately, the weather was considerably less so.

    I walked around anyway. It was nice. People moving through the streets, tourists photographing every sight they could find. Me included, naturally. As I said in Part 2 — if you didn’t post it, it never happened.

    I passed the Strasbourg Cathedral — built in sandstone, it reminded me immediately of Heidelberg’s Castle. Newer probably, but the resemblance was striking. Something about seeing familiar architectural echoes in an unfamiliar city felt like the city was speaking my language.

    I wandered through the streets, took it all in. Found a sweet little café with a view onto the street, sat down, ordered a croissant and a latte macchiato, and just listened to the hustle and bustle of a Saturday morning in Strasbourg. Paid. Walked around some more. Had some ice cream.

    Living a little.

    A lil relaxation

    With my last evening approaching rapidly I headed back to the hotel. I went to the gym and had grand plans for a massage — until I discovered, courtesy of the fine print I had not read, that massages needed to be booked in advance and there was no masseuse on staff that evening anyway.

    Wonderful.

    I went back to the swimming pool instead. Spent the rest of the evening exactly as I had the night before — chilling in my hotel room, watching shows, being entirely unbothered.

    Check-out?

    My mind started racing. My heart skipped approximately five different beats. The receptionist looked at me, confused.

    And here is where I need to be honest about something.

    For me — as a Black woman — there is a particular kind of awareness that arrives in moments like this. When my card gets declined. When I’m fumbling in my bag for money I know is there. A heightened self-consciousness that goes beyond embarrassment.

    I become aware of being Black in the room. I start wondering what people are thinking — about me, and by extension about other Black people. Whether we are being judged. Whether a single declined card becomes a statement about all of us.

    With slightly shaking hands I reached out to retrieve my card. *”No problem,”* I said — because what else do you say — and handed over my regular EC card instead.

    I knew I had enough money on there to cover another two days. I knew it. And yet I was still afraid when I slid the card in.

    It was accepted. Of course it was.

    But I always wonder, in moments like those, how much space that particular kind of fear takes up. And how long we’ll have to keep carrying it.

    I said farewell to the receptionist. Said farewell to the hotel. And went about my merry way — relaxed despite the hiccups, and ready for the next chapter. Because from Strasbourg I was heading directly into my Master’s student journey.

    Thanks for bearing with me through this one.

    Strasbourg was a genuinely lovely getaway and I would recommend it to anyone living close to the French border — card machine anxiety and all.

    Check out Part 1 and Part 2 if you haven’t already.

    See you in the next one.

    To think or not to think
    Ice cream and rain

  • Strasbourg Travel Diary Part II: What It Feels Like to Slow Down in Alsace

    Strasbourg Travel Diary Part II: What It Feels Like to Slow Down in Alsace

    You see me rolling

    If you haven’t read the first post about Strasbourg, you can find the story here.

    So. The day finally came. September 2021.

    If you read the first story, you already know — I am not a vacation friend. And while I tend to be indecisive about most things in life, travel brings out a version of me that knows exactly where she wants to go and what she wants to do when she gets there. No committee required.

    I also didn’t want my neighbour at the time to find out I was leaving. I just wanted to go. Quietly. Without opinions, without unsolicited advice, without anyone casting the evil eye in my direction.

    So I took my suitcase and slipped away down the back path of my student residence like the independent woman I was. Unbothered. Unbothered and slightly sneaky.

    I made my way to the bus stop, caught the bus a few minutes later, and after a ten minute ride arrived at Heidelberg Hauptbahnhof. From there, the route was straightforward enough — Heidelberg to Karlsruhe, Karlsruhe to Offenburg, Offenburg to Strasbourg.

    DB, however, had other plans.

    I still don’t fully understand how they managed to make a three-stop journey feel like a logistical operation, but here we are. We arrived in Karlsruhe without incident. The connection was smooth. Offenburg, though — Offenburg required a sprint.

    I ran from the regional train to the SWE train with everything I had. Thank God for my stamina back then. Lord knows it has since disappeared.

    Thankfully, some faster and more merciful passengers ahead of me held the doors open. I arrived breathless, panting, slightly humiliated — but on the train. Another thirty minutes standing, but I made it.

    Strasbourg, I was coming for you.

    We pulled into the station and I made my way to the tram, heading toward the hotel. The Athena Spa Hotel. Four stars.

    I had never stayed anywhere with more than two stars before. Walking into that foyer, I felt it immediately — something that could only be described as arriving.

    The check-in, however, was less graceful.

    Having never navigated a four-star hotel before, my brain quietly short-circuited the moment I reached the reception desk. I attempted to pay for my room immediately upon arrival. Right there. On the spot. The very kind receptionist — bless her — gently informed me that payment typically happens at the end of a stay.

    Oops.

    I collected what remained of my dignity, took my room key, and made my way up.

    The room was at the back of the hotel. The view, let’s say, offered a certain intimacy with the windows of neighbouring rooms — though everyone had curtains and I was truly not interested in anyone else’s evening. What it lacked in panoramic vistas it made up for in quiet, and quiet was exactly what I needed.

    I was hungry. So for the first time in my life, I ordered room service. A burger and fries. When the bill arrived I remember thinking it was an obscene amount of money for a burger — which, I later learned, is simply the universal experience of room service everywhere in the world.

    I changed into the hotel bathrobe — thankfully provided — and I just… stopped. Chilled. Existed without agenda. I think when people talk about mindfulness, what they mean is exactly that feeling. The particular peace of being somewhere new, alone, with nowhere to be and nobody waiting.


    Relexation

    After some thoroughly unbothered phone scrolling, I packed my swimming costume and headed downstairs to the pool.

    The hotel had one large pool that alternated between regular swimming pool and whirlpool. When I arrived, a mother and her small son were already there — the boy delighting in the water, the mother doing her best to be both present and slightly invisible simultaneously. She shot me a look. I shot her one back. We understood each other perfectly.

    She was from Switzerland — Geneva or Zurich, I can’t quite remember now, though I’ve since visited Zurich and Geneva remains on the list.

    And then I swam. I jumped. I smiled. I paused. I enjoyed.

    Strasbourg — so far, I like you quite a lot.

    I took a photo of the pool on my way out, naturally. As we all know: if you didn’t post it, it never happened.

  • Strasbourg Travel Diary Part I: Why Every Solo Traveller Needs Some Wellness in Alsace

    Where to go?

    After a whirlwind of a summer — tears shed, nights barely slept, and a bachelor thesis somehow written — I wanted out. Away from the known. Away from the mundane.

    So I didn’t just get a prepaid credit card (which, sorry, but never again). I also booked a hotel room. And I knew one thing for sure: I didn’t want to stay within the same culture, the same language. I wanted an adventure. I wanted elsewhere.


    History

    The closest country? France.

    So I booked a train ticket to Strasbourg. Located in eastern France, just a few kilometers from the German border, Strasbourg sits right at the fault line of European history.

    Like many cities in the Alsace region, it was a pawn in the endless tug-of-war between France and Germany. I can’t even count how many times I had to learn in history class that it was German, then French, then German again, then French — and yes, German again. But after the last annexation attempt, France held on, and Strasbourg has remained firmly French ever since.

    If that was already too much history for you, feel free to look up Leidingen — the once-divided village. You’re welcome.


    Another trip, another fail?

    The trip hadn’t even started yet and it was already close to failing. Love to see it.

    I had booked — or rather tried to book — the Athena Spa Hotel (four stars). It was the cheapest option I could afford with my very limited funds. One weekend. Just me, myself, and I.

    Hotel booked, right?

    Wrong.

    The authorization failed. Why? Because I used a prepaid credit card, and the bank hadn’t loaded my €200 onto it yet. After a painful amount of back-and-forth, the hotel finally confirmed that the card was approved. Only then could I relax.


    Finally, leaving

    A friend had wanted to go on vacation with me. But she wasn’t really a vacation friend. You know what I mean. Some people are great for nights out. Others for deep 3 a.m. conversations. And some are perfect travel companions.

    I, however, am not a vacation friend.

    I like deciding for myself: where to go, when to go, what to do. Want to stay in bed two more hours? Done. Jump into the ocean? Done. Eat at the restaurant across the street because I don’t feel like walking? Also done.

    That’s why I love solo travel. It’s just you — choosing for yourself.

    For now, I’ve said enough.

    So I’ll leave it here and let you enJOY Part II soon!

  • Si tu ere’ Latino saca tu bandera – Inside a Latin Festival in Germany

    Si tu ere’ Latino saca tu bandera – Inside a Latin Festival in Germany

    Whenever I think back to this day, I hear the song La Gozadera from Gente de Zona. One line in the song is exactly like the title. So, have a listen and enjoy!

    The Premise

    Besides my West African, Togolese culture, I’ve always been drawn to Latin American culture.

    It’s the music — African percussion meeting tropical rhythms, wrapped in Spanish. Honestly, it probably makes sense. African culture influenced so much of Latin culture, and somehow it feels closest to home outside of Germany and Togo. If that makes sense at all.

    That’s partly why I studied Spanish. But… did I really study it if I was locked in my tiny student dorm room? Because Covid shut down any chance of going to Spain — no immersion, no real-life practice, no finally figuring out when to use subjuntivo, imperfecto or indefinido. Lol.

    Anyway.

    I saw an ad for a Latin American festival during the week. I was alone — as usual during lockdown — and once restrictions eased, I made it a habit to go out by myself.

    Around that time, I also became my own strange version of a health nut. I’d watch My 600 lb Life while trying to “be good,” even though I’ve always been someone who soothes themselves by eating. Not eating — gorging, just to feel full, because emotionally? Empty. Ironic, right?

    Still, for that one day, I decided I wouldn’t miss out on dancing and food.

    The Event

    I made my way from Heidelberg to Mannheim — Alter Messplatz, to be exact. From the tram stop, it was about a ten-minute walk to the festival grounds. It was a beautiful, hot summer day, and I was dressed for the occasion.

    After 10–15 minutes, I finally arrived. I was searched to make sure I wasn’t sneaking in any food or drinks, and then — there I was.

    First stop: the empanada stand.

    Empanadas are a South American delicacy — basically a savory pastry filled with meat, cheese, or sometimes even fruit. Every country has its own version. That day, the options were cheese, beef, and pollo.

    I didn’t hesitate. Beef empanada.

    I found a place to sit and absolutely went to town on it. After that, I treated myself to an overpriced cocktail — maybe a Caipi, maybe a Mojito. Don’t ask me which one. I just remember it was good.

    Next stop: a Peruvian stand. That’s where I saw salchipapa and immediately felt hypnotized.

    Salchipapa is a beloved street food across South America and the Caribbean. The name says it all: salchicha (sausage) and papa (potatoes — specifically fries). Traditionally topped with ketchup; mustard and mayo – Salsa Rosada but that day? Ketchup and mayo. Germans would call it Pommes Schranke.

    IT WAS EPIC.

    Amazing.

    10/10.

    No notes.

    Last but not least: plátanos maduros con queso — sweet plantains with cheese.

    If you know anything about African cuisine, you know we love plantains. So of course, I didn’t think twice. I’d never had them prepared like this before, and wow — absolutely beautiful.

    Fully fed and slightly undone, I spent the rest of the time enjoying the music, watching people dance, kids running around, everyone just… alive.

    It was a good day. A day away from my bachelor’s thesis. One of those small, perfect experiences.

    Before leaving, I stopped by the empanada stand one last time, attempted to speak Spanish (heavy emphasis on attempted), and bought one for the way home — with a little salsa.

    And there we go.

    If you are interested in more of my culinary excursions, check out this story on the The Spot .

    Platanos maduros con queso
    Salschipapa
  • Lake Thun Switzerland Part II: The Hidden Gem That You Should Never Miss

    Lake Thun Switzerland Part II: The Hidden Gem That You Should Never Miss

    Arriving

    After the stress of arriving — and, oh, the stress of having written my bachelor’s thesis just weeks before — my sister picked me up at Spiez main station.

    After nearly ten hours of catching trains, I was so happy to finally be there. Thank God. Once I was settled, I asked her about the beautiful lake I had passed on the way.


    Fun Facts

    She told me it was Lake Thun. Fun fact: Lake Thun is about 48 km² in size and nearly 18 km long. It’s one of the fjord lakes and is located in the northern part of the Swiss Alps.

    Enough foreplay for you? Good.


    How Much?

    My sister had to work the next day, so I started searching online. Every ticket I found was over 80€. Yes — you read that right. A day ticket from where I was staying (basically the middle of nowhere) cost 80€.

    I gulped. My student bank account was already looking at me, annoyed and overwhelmed. But I pulled out my purse and counted my euros.

    And… I had enough to make the trip.

    Side note: the Swiss do accept euros, as long as it’s a banknote. No coins, no pocket change. So if you ever find yourself in a neighboring European country, don’t stress too much about exchanging euros for Swiss francs.


    Anyway, my sister left around 8 a.m., and I left the apartment with her. I walked to the bus stop — where a bus comes by roughly every two hours.

    I waited about five minutes. The bus arrived. On time.

    German efficiency — who?
    It should really be called Swiss efficiency.

    Twenty minutes later, I reached the train station and waited for my train to Thun. Since it was a regional train, I knew it would take a while. And of course — this time — the train was not on time. Maybe I praised the Swiss a little too early.

    When it finally arrived, we slowly meandered through the greenest scenery I’ve ever seen. Unreal. Surreal. Beauty — that’s the only way to describe it.

    And after an hour and a half of travel, I was there.

    Wow. Just… wow.

    I don’t even need to say more than that, right?

    Mating for life
  • Lake Thun – The Most Underrated Lake in Europe

    Lake Thun – The Most Underrated Lake in Europe

    Premise

    Switzerland is known for its serene landscapes, variety of mountain lakes and steep prices. Let’s get on this journey, together.

    So when I was invited by my older sister to visit Switzerland in late Summer of 2021, I was excited. Back then my older sister was living in a small village, close to the city of Spiez, which in turn is located in the canton of Bern.

    The Journey

    I embarked on my journey to Switzerland started early at about 8 o’clock and the plan was to embark on this 5-hour journey. But guess what, there is no such thing as punctual, with the German Railway. I got to the train station on time, however my train from Heidelberg to Mannheim, very much did not. When it finally arrived, we were about 10 minutes behind schedule. Exactly, 10 minutes that were planned in for me switching trains. I made it just in time to the platform to see my high-speed train wave me goodbye. Thank God, I was a bit fitter back then because I actually bothered to run. By the way, don’t you hate missing trains and seeing leave the train station? Awful.

    After that I had to look for alternative connections. Best one. Going from there with a regional train to Strasbourg and from Strasbourg to Basel and then change train to Spiez. Perfect. That journey, obviously, was much longer than the original one I booked.

    So, I used the little donkey train to France and in Strasbourg was directed to the platform. And then I waited, and waited and waited and waited for half an hour. Nice, right?

    The train arrived – and the fighting began – I had to fight to find a seat. I won the Olympian seat games and finally made my way to Switzerland. It only took about 6 hours. And I still wasn’t at my destination.

    Basel

    Basel main station is… BEAUTIFUL. Gone was the urine-filled air that is so common for Germany. Gone was the dirty station. What was there cleanliness I never saw in at any German station. Anyway, I made my way to a shop and bought a sandwich and a drink. Guess what I had never seen as well? These prices, I paid 10€ for. a. damn. sandwich. Done, dusted. Hah.

    What also was lovely was that I missed my train because it took me so damn long to get back. Missed the train. What’s great about Switzerland though, they are so organized (at least when it comes to trains). Found a train and made my way to Spiez to Basel. And after about an hour, as we made our way from there passing by Lake Thun. And it was majestic.

    We didn’t stop there and I arrived in Spiez not long after. One thing that was safe to say was… I’d definitely go there. See the featured image as a sneak peek.

    If you enjoyed being lost with me in trains, sandwiches, and lakes, I write about these little adventures often — quiet discoveries, self-dates, and the magic of ordinary moments. You can stay along for the next one.