How Many Chocolate Croissants Are Too Many?

It’s sunny with blue skies here in Spain after cold winter rain. I’m sitting in the back patio of Can Pol wearing my winter jacket eating a mini-bocadillo and drinking agua con gas (sparkling water, for those who don’t hablan español).

I’ve just walked my son to school and he said, “Adéu,” when I left. No tears today. He didn’t cry either.

A man next to me at the café is eating a baguette-sized breakfast sandwich and drinking beer from a large stein. Others chat and eat inside. No one has that terrified look that they may go bankrupt any minute from a medical bill.

I sit back and think: What am I doing with my life?

Why am I so tired?

Does everyone else find parenting really hard?

Is my life meaningful?

Why do I sometimes feel completely empty?

Why when I close my eyes do I see an image of myself falling into a black hole spinning around for eternity?

How would that work exactly, surviving a black hole only to spin around for eternity?

Was moving to Spain the right choice?

Was it a good idea to leave behind jobs, a daycare our son loved, an apartment with a huge patio space in Brooklyn, our lives?  

How many chocolate croissants are too many?

I bite into the buttery chocolate croissant, and wait for some answers.