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Wear sunscreen.

If I could offer you only one tip for the future, sunscreen would be it. Scientists have proven the long-term benefits of sunscreen, whereas the rest of my advice has no basis more reliable than my own meandering experience. I will dispense this advice now.

Enjoy the power and beauty of your youth. Oh, never mind. You will not understand the power and beauty of your youth until they’ve faded. But trust me, in 20 years, you’ll look back at photos of yourself and recall in a way you can’t grasp now how much possibility lay before you and how fabulous you really looked. You are not as fat as you imagine.

Don’t worry about the future. Or worry, but know that worrying is as effective as trying to solve an algebra equation by chewing bubble gum. The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind, the kind that blindside you at 4 p.m. on some idle Tuesday.

Do one thing every day that scares you.

Sing.

Don’t be reckless with other people’s hearts. Don’t put up with people who are reckless with yours.

Floss.

Don’t waste your time on jealousy. Sometimes you’re ahead, sometimes you’re behind. The race is long and, in the end, it’s only with yourself.

Remember compliments you receive. Forget the insults. If you succeed in doing this, tell me how.

Keep your old love letters. Throw away your old bank statements.

Stretch.

Don’t feel guilty if you don’t know what you want to do with your life. The most interesting people I know didn’t know at 22 what they wanted to do with their lives. Some of the most interesting 40-year-olds I know still don’t.

Get plenty of calcium. Be kind to your knees. You’ll miss them when they’re gone.

Maybe you’ll marry, maybe you won’t. Maybe you’ll have children, maybe you won’t. Maybe you’ll divorce at 40, maybe you’ll dance the funky chicken on your 75th wedding anniversary. Whatever you do, don’t congratulate yourself too much, or celebrate yourself either. Your choices are half chance. So are everybody else’s.

Enjoy your body. Don’t be afraid of it or of what other people think of it. It’s the greatest instrument you’ll ever own.

Dance, even if you have nowhere to do it but your living room.

Read the directions, even if you don’t follow them.

Do not read beauty magazines. They will only make you feel ugly.

Get to know your parents. You never know when they’ll be gone for good. Be nice to your siblings. They’re your best link to your past and the people most likely to stick with you in the future.

Understand that friends come and go, but with a precious few you should hold on. Work hard to bridge the gaps in geography and lifestyle, because the older you get, the more you need the people who knew you when you were young.

Live in New York City once, but leave before it makes you hard. Live in Northern California once, but leave before it makes you soft. Travel.

Accept certain inalienable truths: Prices will rise. Politicians will philander. You, too, will get old. And when you do, you’ll fantasize that when you were young, prices were reasonable, politicians were noble, and children respected their elders. Respect your elders.

Don’t expect anyone else to support you. Maybe you have a trust fund. Maybe you’ll have a wealthy spouse. But you never know when either one might run out.

Don’t mess too much with your hair or by the time you’re 40 it will look 85.

Be careful whose advice you buy, but be patient with those who supply it. Advice is a form of nostalgia. Dispensing it is a way of fishing the past from the disposal, wiping it off, painting over the ugly parts and recycling it for more than it is worth.

But trust me on the sunscreen.

Does anyone know who this is by? I have only ever seen it attributed to Anonymous.

This morning, driving to camp, Whit pointed through the sunroof and said, “Mummy, the clouds are peaceful.” I turned around, surprised, and said, “Peaceful, Whitty?” And he said, “In pieces.” The sky was mottled with faint clouds. I love clouds, both aesthetically and metaphorically. Whit was right, in both his intended and mistaken observations: the slightly cloudy sky was both peaceful and in pieces.

It was a very random and empty day – actually a privilege, and a treat, though today also a reminder of my failure to find something truly meaningful to do with my life (yet!). I went for a nice run, and listened to my standard weird music en route. What, you don’t think Garth Brooks is running music? Why, you’d be wrong – “If Tomorrow Never Comes” is quite the pick-me-up in fact … I ran thinking about how this is one thing on the very short list of things I am sure and confident about: I don’t hesitate to say how I feel, those I love most deeply really know how I feel. If tomorrow never comes, that isn’t something Garth is going to catch me regretting.

11am at Fresh Pond seems to be Stroller Hour. I ran past countless new moms strolling infants and was struck both by their common shellshocked faces and by how many of them were clutching phones, either talking or texting, clutching their lifelines to the “real world.” Oh, how I remember those days! Of course when Grace was tiny and colicky it was pitch dark at 430 and raw and cold. I recall walking with her in the Bjorn in the late afternoon, talking to Bouff on the phone, my hand freezing into a claw as it clutched the cell against my ear. I remember that the pain in my hand was nothing compared to that in my head and that I felt it was clearly worth it to keep talking to someone from my Old Life!

It’s good that I ran when I did because there was a wild thunderstorm this afternoon. It was dramatic and beautiful and noisy and now the evening has cleared into a placid sunset. Pictures taken just now. This evening as they were this morning, the clouds are both peaceful and in pieces.

I am listening to a new mix I made and cooking right now. This is my favorite kind of cooking: using whatever vegetables I have around to make something I invent as I go along. I am a very casual cook – it is either an exception to my personality or evidence that I am not quite as anal as the world has decided I am. I love to cook without recipes and even when I follow them I rarely measure carefully or obey to the letter. This was no doubt learned by osmosis from my mother, who is a spectacular and very self-guided cook. She can whip up a feast from what others would deem an empty refrigerator, in 20 minutes flat, all the while having a sparkling conversation over a glass of wine. She is an icon of effortless cooking and entertaining. My productions are not as delicious as hers (today it looks like I am winding up with a chard, zucchini, and shallot gratin with parmesan – jury is out on how it tastes). In the kitchen, I am proud to say I am truly my mother’s daughter.