This spring, when I had a long and complicated commute in a sprawling city, I found myself looking forward to being back in Maine, able to create my own schedule.

I spent several hours a day at work, serving as the director of the microschool I founded ten years ago.

Solitude was scarce, and free time was limited.

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I have bounced back from closing one of my businesses this past spring.

I’ve got two. One is run capably by Jen and doesn’t require a lot of work on my part.

The other is run by me and requires my daily effort.

You would think that would be enough. But there’s another one lurking in the shadows, and it won’t go away.

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One of my main takeaways from Netflix’s Salt Fat Acid Heat, based on the book of the same name by Samin Nosrat, is that when you dump salt into your pasta water, your pasta tastes great.

Indeed, pretty much everything needs to be salted more than I thought, at every stage of preparation. Salt makes meat more tender, strengthens dough, and enhances flavor.

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A movie or novel starts in the moment when something is about to change for our protagonist.

This change is always brought on by some outside force. Dorothy, home and all, is spirited away to Oz, accidentally committing murder in the process. Gandalf shows up and disrupts Bilbo’s peaceful existence. Hagrid comes along and tells Harry he’s been a wizard all along. We’re in for a wild time.

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I have a tendency to slow down when things are going well.

It as though I’m heading off the highway and into a small, sleepy town. I have the sense that I’ve arrived at my destination. It’s 25 mph here, not 70. I wind through the streets, slowly taking turn after familiar turn.

That’s fine if I’m actually there. But more often than not, I’m not. I’m slowing down and exiting when I still have miles and miles to go.

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