It’s already Sunday but it feels like the weekend has stretched for a week, in the nicest way. The first few truly sunny days of summer are such a novelty still—each one has a delicious newness to it, which gives time an elasticity such that a single weekend feels like a week-long vacation. All the things that become routine once summer really sets in are still fresh. I haven’t gone swimming every morning yet, or had dozens of cold brew iced coffees, or gotten multiple sunburns from too many hours at the beach.

I worked on Block Island one summer, spending my days as an employee of the island’s Conservancy and my evenings bussing tables and hostessing at a beachside restaurant. My day job had all sorts of perks: I spent the summer outside, teaching little kids about ocean tides and island geography, or leading marsh walks, or overseeing beach cleanups. I got a killer tan and breathed fresh ocean air all day. One of my favorite parts of the job was assisting with weekly stargazing events. These were hugely popular with summer visitors—we called them “night sky viewings” and we held them in the big field at the Hodge Preserve near the northern tip of the island.

My routines ebb and flow regularly. You’ve heard that saying about change being the only constant? For me, I stick firmly to habits, repeating them again and again, until one day: poof! I switch them up entirely. (There is the exception of a few daily rhythms, in which I’ve rarely wavered over the years: I always exercise in the mornings (when possible). I always shower at night before putting on pajamas and having dinner (when possible). I read a book before falling asleep. I only stretch after a run, and never before.

Let’s talk about your sense of adventure. How is it these days? Thriving? While I believe each of us to have our own innate level of comfort with adventure—that can certainly fluctuate throughout the years. I think of myself as a solid 8 out of 10 on the adventurous scale, but I’ve dipped down as far as a tentative, trembling 2 at times and sometimes soared high as a fearless 14 (yes, out of 10), craving all sorts of risk, seeking hits of adrenaline in far-flung places.

Last week, I spent a few days in the Florida sunshine. I returned to New York, facing down a dreary stretch of cold, rainy weather—within minutes of landing on the tarmac at LaGuardia Airport, it was already hard to remember the sensation of soft, still-warm evening breeze on my skin. Of the sting of hot water hitting sunburn in the shower. Of the humidity that hangs in the air, like hot breath on you. Of palm trees and iced coffee and peeling ripe citrus poolside, the juice dripping down your fingers.