I guess I was traumatized by that scene in the 1992 film Unforgiven where Gene Hackman, the crooked sheriff, is lying on the ground, wounded after a gunfight, with vigilante Clint Eastwood standing over him. Hackman lists all the things he’s done for the town and pleads, “I don’t deserve to die like this.” Eastwood shakes his head and opines, in that surly surety of his, “Deserve’s got nothing to do with it.” Then, as is his character’s wont, shoots Hackman.

As I said, I guess I was a bit traumatized by that scene. Because it keeps coming back to me whenever anyone uses the “d” word with me. In this case, it was a friend opining that, what with how harrowing the past couple of weeks’ commitments have been, I deserved a little time off. I deserved to pamper myself.

I couldn’t help but lower my voice to a cowboy’s growl and utter, “Deserve’s got nothing to do with it.” And then I took the day off and pampered myself by climbing in the plane and flying to Canada for pie.

Yes, I’m deeply mindful of the almost unimaginable privilege I have that lets me do this sort of thing. I have friends who, based on skin color or gender presentation, have justifiable fears that encounters with US Customs and Immigration might end badly. I have the fortune – at the moment – to seem innocuous. I don’t take this privilege of mine for granted, and I certainly won’t claim I deserved it. But, today, I was just going to lean into the opportunity: deserve’s got nothing to do with it.

Victoria is always such a joy. Flight planner calls it 17 minutes of flight time at cruise speed; honestly, filing the paperwork with Customs takes longer. Call up Flight Service to get your transponder code, dial in Victoria Outer Tower prior to crossing the border northbound, and prepare to be handled with grace and efficiency. Customs (“Welcome to Canada, sir. Have an excellent day!”) and the Victoria Flying Club (“Can we get you anything?”) handled me with equal grace and efficiency, and half an hour later I was strolling down Douglas Street trying to decide where to have my morning coffee. 

Which isn’t as easy a decision to make as one might assume – Victoria’s coffee obsession makes Seattle look like a dabbler, but I picked Deer and Dough Bakery and – unsurprisingly – was not disappointed.

Then? Wander. Down by the water to peoplewatch and watch the “pickle boat” ferries toodle around the harbor. Lunch at a ramen place that had caught my eye on my last trip. Chill out in the gardens of the Empress Hotel – I keep telling myself I’ll have tea there someday – and then back up to the Public Market for my favorite north-of-the-border pie from Victoria Pie Company

Which…wait, what?!? Why are they closed? Dang. (Oh, I suffer so!)

But there was another pie company about a 15 minute walk away, and the afternoon was glorious for a walk, even with my troubled leg. Saltchuck Pie Company. Coffee, ice cream, pie – Victorians (is that what they call themselves here?) seem to take these things as seriously as fire extinguishers, and seem to have made sure that you’re never far from one.

Okay. Didn’t want to lean in too much into a good thing, and my leg/hip was starting to hurt again, so I decided to call it a day. Experience has taught me that part of really indulging oneself includes remembering that you don’t need to do everything. Leaving some things untasted, untried, “for next time” actually enhances the experience.

And so I did. Indulged in an Uber (bus would have required a bit more walking than my leg/hip wanted at the moment) back to the plane, filed my flight plan and border crossing forms, chatted up the fine folks at the flying club a bit more, then whooshed my way home, apple-raspberry pie securely snugged in back.

It was an undeservedly fun, indulgent – may I even say ‘decadent’? – day. No, I won’t claim to have deserved one bit of it, but I’m grateful I was able to make it happen.