Here I am, sitting outside with a mug of tea, wrapped in a blanket and stubbornly refusing to accept the fact that it is straight up cold outside. I showed up at 7:15 this morning for the “Dirty 30” circuit workout class, held in the parking lot outside of the trainer I occasionally visit. (Yes, it is AS FIERCE as it sounds. My muscles currently feel like jelly.) Katie—the trainer—runs small group classes, which are wicked hard combination of kettlebells and TRX and core and crossfit and medicine ball slams and sprints and more varieties of squat jumps than I realized existed. She’s been running classes outside all summer—and soon it’ll be too cold to carry on like this. Like so much else in the world, we’ll just have to see what happens next.
(I find myself saying this all the time: we’ll see what happens. It’s oddly comforting that despite so much unknown, there is the constant that we will carry on and things will unfold. Life marches forward.)
I couldn’t see my breath this morning—it’s not that cold yet—but it’s still a rude awakening from the balmy and humid summer weather. As I waited for class to start, I bounced on the balls of my feet to try and shake myself warm. But despite the chill, I can’t fully switch gears yet. After class I drove home and then ran down the street and jumped off the dock into the water, gasping as I climbed up the ladder and the windy air hit my wet skin.
Soon there will be no more morning paddleboards and evening swims and lazy 8 PM sunset walks. I’ll find new routines and I like the deliciousness unknowing of it all—I’ve never lived here in the fall so I don’t have habits to fall back into. And, in reality, soon I might not still be living here and will have to adjust to an entirely new place. I’ve also never had a baby in cold winter months, so it’s all going to be new. We’ll live into it!
You will too. Sometimes I think about you all out there, reading this somewhere, and I wonder how many universal emotions and experiences we share—the more we all fumble through this odd and scary and pivotal time in the world, the more I sense the commonalities that lie at each of our very cores, as we strip away a lot of the superficial stuff on top.
(Then I watch the circus of the election unfold and think, maybe not so much. I don’t know. I remain ever hopeful and ever optimistic about…well, about everything, because I have to be. I just do. RBG once said: “Don’t be distracted by emotions like anger, envy, resentment. These just zap energy and waste time.” That’s easier said than done, of course, but worth attempting.)
I wonder about you. What do you worry about? What do you get excited about? Who do you see first thing in the morning? Do you stumble downstairs sleepily in your pajamas, sliding open the side door near the kitchen, as your golden retriever barrels past you and rushes into the yard? Do you snap on the leash and slip on sandals to walk behind the dog as he pulls the leash taut, eager to race down the street?
Do you wake up alone in a big bed with a crisp cotton comforter and no sheets? Do you have a bedside table with a stack of books and a retro-looking alarm clock and a half-drunk glass of water, or just a phone charger and some chapstick and the partially completed NYT Thursday crossword?
Do you walk down a hallway to a bedroom with two small children, one still fast asleep on their stomach, mouth agape and soft cheeks flushed from sleep and hair spread silkily across the pillow? Do you have roommates—one of whom wakes up at 6 AM every morning to meditate on the floor of the living room so you have to step over them to get to the kitchen to pour your cornflakes?
Do you go running? Have you ever tried yoga? Are you in love with someone right now—do you think about them hotly and constantly, like an electric undercurrent that hums and vibrates somewhere inside you?
When’s the last time you cried about something? Do you talk to your mother, and do you talk about your feelings with her? With anyone? Do you know how to knit and did you play soccer in high school and can you remember the feeling of sitting on the cold vinyl seats of the bus after practice, the sky dark outside and your skin sweaty and cool, your forehead resting on the window and the taste of lemon-lime Gatorade sticky on your lips?
Do you eat breakfast, or just a mug of strong coffee and a handful of blueberries? Do you like buttered toast with soft scrambled eggs dotted with chives? Maybe you’re someone who makes oatmeal, standing at the stove while your girlfriend rushes around you making a smoothie and chattering, your mind still and quiet and slowly waking up as you stir a pat of butter into the pot, watching it melt in creamy yellow rivulets.
I, myself, go back and forth. I fall into the habit of making a leisurely breakfast: a pale golden omelet with a gooey cheese center, or sourdough bread with mashed avocado and sea salt. Then I switch into a different routine: a few bites of banana bread or a bowl of cereal eaten quickly—saving my quiet moments for tea and writing.
Regardless of your own habits, it’s always a good idea to have something on hand that suits either breakfast mood: slow and unhurried or rushed and perfunctory.
Personally, I think muffins fit the bill nicely. If you want to split one open, toast it and butter it, and eat it alongside a cup of tea…you can! If you want to grab it from the fridge and take bites with one hand while you check your email with the other…that’ll work too.
While I could go on and on about muffin recipes, I suggest making the following zucchini one while the summer squash season still lingers.
Zucchini Lemon Muffins
Adapted from King Arthur Flour
1/2 cup (99g) granulated sugar
zest of 2 lemons
2 cups (240g) all-purpose flour
1 tablespoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup dried cranberries
2 eggs
1/2 cup (113g) milk
1/3 cup (67g) unsalted butter, melted and cooled slightly
2 cups (240g) shredded zucchini, lightly packed
turbinado sugar, for sprinkling
Preheat the oven to 400 degrees F. Grease a 12-cup muffin tin or line with paper liners.
Add the sugar and lemon zest to a large mixing bowl and rub the zest into the sugar with your fingertips until fragrant.
Add the flour, baking baking powder, and salt and whisk to combine.
Stir in the cranberries.
In a separate bowl, whisk together the eggs, milk, and melted butter.
Pour the wet ingredients into the dry and stir to until just combined. Don’t overmix!
Fold in the grated zucchini, then scoop the batter into the muffin tin—filling each well about 3/4 of the way full.
Sprinkle turbinado sugar over the tops and bake for 20 to 25 minutes, or until lightly golden on the tops.
Remove from the oven and let cool for a few minutes, then turn the muffins out onto a wire rack to finish cooling.