Goodbye, Spit Brook Road Panera

            Over my four years living in Nashua, NH, I have established a loose routine of having breakfast and working at the local Panera. If I had more artistic talent, I would have added a “This Degree was Sponsored by Panera” design to my cap when I graduated from my master’s program last fall. I sit at the communal high-top table (the only seating with outlets here) with my portable “command station,” which consists of my laptop and external monitor. Some Sundays, I’ve been surrounded by books and print-outs of journal articles on curriculum development and literacy instruction. Others, I immerse myself in whatever Spotify playlist I’ve had on repeat and dive into a “money check-in” or just scrolling on Facebook. Regardless of my objective, a rotating cast of local characters filter through my peripheral vision as I stare at my laptop screen.

            Usually when I am here on Sunday mornings, a group of ladies gather after church. They’re not here yet today, but I expect that they’ll start arriving soon to chat, eat, and reconnect with their little community. During the moments I take off my noise-cancelling headphones, I’ve heard conversations about their children’s and grandchildren’s accomplishments, their condos in warmer locales, and international travel. While they recounted stories of a long, well-lived life with their community, I have been furiously trying to build my own, one grad school assignment or budgeting session at a time.

Today, I stopped in for what I expect to be the last time I work here on a weekend morning. A few of the ladies have now arrived and claimed their usual tables at the back of the dining room. The early arrivals dragged the tables together, allowing them to sit closer to one another so they can talk more easily. And I’m sitting at my usual spot, methodically planning and reflecting on the final demolition of my life here. Young families have dashed in to grab a snack for their kids between soccer games. Some of the other solo diners have settled in to drink a coffee and read quietly before they begin their day in full. Some assortments of these people have been here during each of my “command center” sessions over the last four years.

            The casual connections and familiarities I’ve shaped while frequenting this Panera are collateral damage, cut-off as I move away from the place where I ended the five-year relationship that brought me here. What was once a comforting, quiet space to get work done while my ex slept in now feels like an odd homage to the small life that I created for myself here while I attempted to hold together an already-damaged relationship. In a strange way, the two months I’ve spent here since we broke up have been even more revealing and formative than the preceding years I spent living in New England. Panera has again become my “command station,” as I completed job applications for schools in Baltimore, booked (and rebooked) U-Hauls, drafted my resignation letter for my current job, researched how to help cats get comfortable in a new life, and created Wayfair wishlists for my new home.

            The final countdown to moving day has begun, and I will be leaving Nashua next weekend. For years, my “Panera time” has been a predictable routine with a familiar, if varied, cast of characters. Now, I’m drafting my first blog post and planning the hard-launch of my single era in Baltimore. For two months, I have been slowly dismantling the shreds of community I established while living here. My connections here are loose ties, but they have been forming for over 4 years. None of these people know that I won’t be returning to this spot next week, and likely never will. One of the women is complaining that their food came out cold – a beautifully small problem. I have always sat here alone, while these ladies have each other. My problems have felt enormous, and I have felt lonely, and isolated while trying to plan and create my life. My time working here hasn’t solved all my problems, but it has given me the space I needed to face them. The other patrons here this morning will continue to frequent the Spit Brook Road Panera, and they’ll do so without me. By this time next week, my command station and I will be in Baltimore, taking on my next chapter.