A Piece of Pizza for Peace

I drove an hour and fifty minutes for pizza. You can call me crazy or call me adventurous; I say I’m a little bit of both.

When my friend told me he was craving a slice of home and required that his pizza be made by New Jersey native Tony Aponte himself, my initial response was, “Ha! You know that it’s almost two hours away, right?”

Almost as quickly as that thought came, it was replaced with, “Why not? Let’s go.” And off to Aponte’s Pizzeria in Mason, Ohio we went.

Pizza

Sure, I was hungry, but this topping covered flatbread is available on almost every street corner, so driving a total of three hours for a bite may seem unnecessarily, or even a total waste of time. So why did I go?

I am a walking emotional sponge. I have been soaking in and carrying around other people’s afflictions my whole life. All I could think about is how much hate there is out there. There’s so much hate that it feels like we’re drowning in it. There’s so much that it’s capable of overshadowing all the beauty in life.

Pizza

Unfortunately, the cruelty is not something I can control, but I can control how I react. I’m lucky. I am capable of living a privileged, beautiful life.

I am told time and time again, “Do not let the world make you hard.” But to try. To try and try every day with all I’ve got inside of me to stay soft. To stay sweet. To keep believing that cracks in the world are how the light gets in.

Pizza

I didn’t go for the pizza; I went for the new sights, the fresh air, the thrill. I went to drive in a direction I’ve never been. I went to learn to latch my mind onto what’s right in front of it, to learn how to just be. I went to feel and to laugh real laughs born from the deepest nooks of my body.

I went to hold onto the last bit of light that I could find in the abysmal darkness.

Pizza

Sometimes, when the weight of the world becomes too much to carry, you need to disappear on the freeway under a thousand blinking stars with the bass of the pulsating radio thumping inside of your chest.

Pizza

Because sometimes driving three hours for pizza is the only way you can know everything it going to be OK. And that…that is perfectly OK.

Laurie Hamame

Ball of sunshine. Chronic giggler. A lover of all things sweet potato. An overly friendly, world traveling, body positive warrior. Avid bookworm. Self-proclaimed chef and spiritually Italian. Promotor of daily walks, coffee dates and 30-second dance parties.

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Laurie Hamame

Ball of sunshine. Chronic giggler. A lover of all things sweet potato. An overly friendly, world traveling, body positive warrior. Avid bookworm. Self-proclaimed chef and spiritually Italian. Promotor of daily walks, coffee dates and 30-second dance parties.

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