Yesterday evening a man sitting on a stoop in SoHo tossed pink flowers my way as I walked past him. I don’t know his intentions, but I liked it, the way they showered over my shoulders and landed on the tops of my Toms. It felt like a commercial. It felt like he was congratulating me for something I hadn't yet done for him. I think the most beautiful thing you can do for a person is throw something gorgeous their way when they least expect it, whether it’s soft pink petals or a compliment or a slice of your gratitude. I try to do that, but it can be hard – sometimes I’m stifled, blocked by an invisible wall of restraint that I have to force myself through. Other times, though, it’s the simplest, breeziest thing in the world.

Today is one of those glorious spring days that helps justify the rainy ones. I woke up early and went for a run on the water (the Hudson, but there were moments I could have sworn I was on the beach, on the strip of road between the bay and the Atlantic); if only every run, every morning, could be like this.

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