Sometimes the schedule gets hectic. The car becomes a second home. Then the house gets messi(er). The sleep turns fitful. And healthful rituals like exercise, eating well, and chilling out go to pot. Sometimes that’s precisely the time you need to take some time—for yourself, for some good yucks, for something completely different.
That’s what I did today. I got lost on purpose—only to find a place that I’d been meaning to find for a long time now: The St. Paul Hmong Market.
I wandered about aimlessly and let the sights, sounds, and smells overwhelm me. I bought produce of all shapes and sizes, and don’t even know what some of it is. I got lost—again—until I found the little food-stand section I’d heard so much about.
Then I sat down and slowly, oh so slowly, ate spring rolls, curried chicken, and purple sticky rice. Hmong folk of several generations stared and smiled at me—the only white person in the whole market.
For 55 minutes, I felt transported to someplace else. Because I was. And that little hiatus felt so much more important than whatever I was supposed to be doing.