Some weeks feel like they stretch into months; others fly by in an instant. The long ones require a little more patience, a little more effort—I have to stop and notice my impatience or mood, and recalibrate. I think about how nice it is to have the luxury of time at home without too many meetings or travel or appointments. I think about things I reliably like (cold cream poured over warm homemade chocolate pudding, the smell of shallots cooking in olive oil, showering with Molton Brown’s bergamot and orange body wash, listening to Sam Cooke when I prep dinner, putting on just-from-the-dryer socks) and I practice shifting my mindset from “what’s coming next” to “where am I right now”.

Cold weather has snuck back in, interrupting a string of very nice spring days. I took a run this morning in Central Park, forgoing gloves and a hat in the hopes that the air would feel soft and warm like yesterday, and my fingers were numb by the time I finished. I sprinted the two blocks back from the park’s entrance and stopped, breathing hard, outside my apartment. I let that (incredibly good) post-run tiredness wash over me, and fumbled to try and untie my front door key from my shoelaces where I store it on runs.

Well, today has been a little blue. And rather than retreat into the blueness of it, I thought it might be comforting to be here and write to you, whoever and wherever you are. I thought why not spend a few brief moments talking about something bright? Maybe it will brighten your day. And in any event, the exercise of sitting to put pen to paper—so to speak—often feels just as cathartic as a brisk morning run or a hot shower at night.