Stop. It's good for you.

When I need a little pick me up I go for a convertible ride. It's not the wind in my hair or my favorite song that does the trick; it's stopping at crosswalks. I don't mean the ones at traffic lights where everyone stops. I mean the ones seemingly randomly placed in small towns and the countryside; the ones that few people stop at and that might even do more harm than good. Stopping at those is a real tiramisu (pick me up).

I have friends that don't like being stopped for. If there's no traffic in either direction, they think crosswalk-stoppers like me are silly. I'm neither saving their lives, nor saving them time. The crosswalk-stopper-haters think I'm only adding pressure to an otherwise calm crossing. Fortunately not everyone agrees with them or I'd never get my crosswalk high.

For me the surprised smiles, gentle gestures and cockeyed nods are just what the doctor ordered. There's a brief moment I think I'm an above-average citizen; different from the rest and appreciated.  I picture them telling their friends that today someone actually stopped at a crosswalk. And I pretend the response is, "Was it a lady with crazy, grey hair (or a crazy lady with grey hair) in a tiny convertible? She stopped for me last week, too."

Some people stop for beautiful blondes and others for babies on board. I stop for pedestrians. And I've never regretted putting another notch in my dashboard. When I reach 1000 maybe I'll tell Officer Friendly and he'll award me with a shiny, metal badge. Until then, I'll keep patting myself on the back and wondering why the tiny connnection I've just made with fellow mankind lifts my spirits so.