The phrase (& practice) that’s saving me right now: Solvitur Ambulando

And a recipe I can’t stop making—have I become a kale person?!

Solvitur Ambulando: it’s a Latin phrase that means “it is solved by walking”—many people believe that St Augustine said it, and this week I’m thinking about it in at least two ways:

First, quite literally: close your laptop, put on your shoes and WALK. Get outside where the air is fresh and cool, where there’s an absolutely life-affirming scent of spring in the air. I know it’s too soon. I know it won’t last. But yesterday I spent way too many hours on my computer and when I finally did finally slam it shut and walk to the little market I love, the walking revived me in such an immediate way.

But I also mean it in a less literal way, meaning ACTION. Do something. Plunge in. Make the phone call you’re avoiding. Tackle the problem that seems unsolvable.

If you’re like me—and by that I mean an absolutely legend-level top-tier overthinker—ACTION is the solution.

If you’re extremely troubled by what’s happening in our government (so am I), ACTION is the solution.

If you’re tangled up in a creative conundrum, like I was earlier this week, ACTION is the solution.

I’m working on the recipe list for the cookbook, and there are, of course, so many ways you can structure a cookbook. I’d been working on other parts of it, sort of industriously ignoring the problems I needed to solve, inching around the other parts where the ground felt more solid. But this week I knew that it was time to plunge in, even if it felt like maybe I was wasting time, or even if it made things muddier instead of clearer, even if it exposed other problems with the project.

As is always, always the case, the plunging in was just the thing—yes of course it got messier before it got clearer, and yes of course it brought up more questions and only a few answers, but this is how creative work is: you’ll never do great work inching around the edges of the mess. You have to plunge right into it, get dirty in it, pull it apart.

If you’re lonely, take a deep breath, screw up all your courage, and send just one text.

If you’re doomscrolling (raises hand!), take a deep breath, screw up all your courage, and put down your phone.

If there’s a hard conversation that you need to have but you really really don’t want to, take a deep breath, screw up all your courage, and begin.

There were two difficult conversations in my life that I knew had to happen, and I knew because I found myself having them over and over in the night when I couldn’t sleep—that’s a sure sign. I know well enough by now that when I’m rehearsing a conversation over and over in the night, it needs to happen in real life—in the daytime and with the other actual human involved :)

And if you finally have that hard conversation (good job!) but afterward you feel like jumping out of your skin, go for a walk—deep breaths and long stretching strides until the sparking energy starts to dissipate.

I’m a very very big list-maker, and that’s generally a helpful practice, because it means there’s a place outside my crazy brain where I can see everything I’m thinking about, instead of it rattling around in my head, fizzing and buzzing.

There’s a downside, though, to too many lists—it’s all still just fingers and brain and mental function/overfunction. Instead of planning and listing, at certain point, I know I have to ACT. To walk. To pick up the phone, to DO something.

And actually, that’s part of why I love cooking. One of my brave but difficult conversations happened yesterday afternoon, and afterward I was keyed up, senses buzzing…so I went into the kitchen: cutting board, knife, pile of kale (more on that later). Something physical, repetitive motion, not all that different than walking. Deep breaths, energy moving out of my mind and my heart into the gentle work of kitchen tasks. As ever, the kitchen heals me.

A few more little things: last week Will and I spent a couple days with my family on our favorite little island, and it was so fun and special—and also it was really windy and a little cool, meaning it wasn’t great conditions for boating or swimming or snorkeling. Will was fine with that…as long as we played football on the beach, basketball in town, baseball on diamond on the hill on the way to town. He had a great time…and all of us adult people who played with him are STILL SORE. Haha.

What I’ve been reading:

I’ve been in a bit of a reading slump lately—either reading things I haven’t loved or scrolling way, way too much, but I finally shook myself out of it & found a couple real gems:

We All Live Here by Jojo Moyes

Deep Cuts by Holly Brickley

One of the joys of being a writer is celebrating other writers’ new books, and one of the joys of living in New York is getting to go to their launch events—tonight and tomorrow night, respectively, I get to cheer on my friends Ada and Savannah in person—what a delight! You’ll love both their new books:

Crush by Ada Calhoun

Mostly What God Does is Love You by Savannah Guthrie

(amazon affiliate links)

What we’ve been eating: we’re on a quesadilla kick these days, especially for an after-school snack—just cheese in flour tortillas, with bowls of salsa verde and sour cream for dipping, all piled on a little sheet pan. I always add a little bowl of grapes or berries on the pan—they generally go ignored, but I remain undeterred :)

For dinner: in all this recipe testing, I’ve been absolutely packing the freezer with deli containers of chicken marbella and kale soup and bolognese, so last night I defrosted the bolognese, boiled a pound of spaghetti, toasted a pile of sourdough. Quick, easy, and everyone was happy.

With the bolognese, I also served a big shredded kale salad, because I’ve been craving it lately, which I know is something you’ve never heard me say. I think it’s a combination of the lovely sunshine-y spring weather this week, and also the after-effects of several days of rum punch and conch fritters last week—a big crunchy salad is the perfect thing right now.

The way I do it: start by pulling the leaves off the thick kale ribs, and then chop the leaves as finely as possibly, almost shredding them. Make up a quick vinaigrette in a jam jar---and for kale, I like an especially aggressive, acidic one.

Often I’ll do a version of this: a teaspoon of Dijon, a teaspoon of honey, a quarter cup of either apple cider vinegar or lemon juice, and a half cup of olive oil.

Shake it all up in a jam jar, pour it over the kale, and massage it in with your hands for a couple minutes.

If you think you don’t like kale salads, believe me, I get it. I’ve picked at plenty of flavorless ones—piles of huge, tough leaves & too little else. I think there are three tricks that transform them from tough duty to totally craveable: first, the shred. Second, the massage, and then third: lots of crunchy/chewy/delicious things mixed in.

I was in a rush last night—bolognese nearly bubbling over, Aaron out of town, kids all of a sudden absolutely starving, etc etc, so I after I scrunched the dressing into the kale for a couple minutes, I added a handful of crushed almonds, a handful of golden raisins, half a shallot finely diced, half an apple cut into thin slivers, and a big crumble of goat cheese.

While I’m singing the many praises of kale salads (who am I?), here’s one more: it gets even better with time. I made a big bowl last night, ate it for dinner and then ate the rest for lunch today—no worries about wilting or about the dressing overpowering tender leaves.

Back to Solvitur Ambulando: these are not easy days. And they might not get easier anytime soon. We’ve got a handful of pretty high-stakes unknowns in our house this winter and spring, and the headlines on top of those unknowns can feel flattening if I’m not disciplined about walking, literally and otherwise. I know I’m not alone in the fear, the anger, the sense of powerlessness.

We can’t solve it all, but we can do our best to keep our hearts soft and our spirits strong for the road ahead, and for me, one of the straightest ways through is to keep walking, literally and otherwise.

Walk, act, plunge in. Deep breath, courage. Repeat, repeat, repeat.