“I biked to work today!” I enthuse. My colleague smiles politely. She’s been biking to work in all weathers for years.
At home, I crack open the copy of Animal, Vegetable, Miracle that I bought last year, but hadn’t yet gotten around to reading. I’m thinking vaguely about where to go for dinner. As I read, it slowly dawns on me: perhaps the kitchen?
You develop routines, and it seems bizarre to change them, even though your routines are someone else’s definition of bizarre. I don’t think I’ll turn into an every-day bike commuter or home cook. But it wouldn’t hurt to be both more frequently.
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