How To Begin, Gently: Day 9, Eat Something Warm

This is not advice. This is a baseline. This week, the weather shifted. Kona lows rolled in. Low cloud cover, temperature drops. It even snowed on Haleakalā. For most of us on Maui, the change is subtler — more rain, softer light, mornings that ask for a sweater, nights that make you reach for a blanket you haven’t used in months. Nothing dramatic. But enough to register in the body.

This is when your appetite changes before your mind catches up. You start thinking about warmer food. Not aspirational food. Not healthy food. Just warm. A little part of you misses the soups and stews and casseroles of a New York City January — the way a pot on the stove could hold a whole evening together. You want that steadiness back. That anchor. Because warm food slows the day down. A bowl cupped in both hands. Steam on your face. A lid lifted, a quiet inhale.

Cold food has its place. Poke is always in rotation here. Salads are abundant. Açaí bowls don’t take a season off. But warm food right now hits differently. This is why, across cultures and climates, people turn to soups, broths, porridges, and stews when things feel cold or uncertain — not out of nostalgia, but necessity.

You made a soup the other day. Simple. Familiar. Fortifying. The kind of thing you could make half-asleep. It warmed the whole house before the first spoonful was taken. Aromatics drifting down the hall. The kitchen lights a little softer. The noise level dropping without anyone saying a word. It was a vibe — cozy, comfortable, quieting.

And here’s the thing no one tells you: eating something warm is indulgent, yes — but it’s also tactical. This isn’t about self-care rituals or nutritional correctness. It’s about regulation. Warm food signals the nervous system. It gives your body a clear signal: we are safe enough to slow down. No journaling required. No plan. No optimization. A pot of soup does real work. Reheated gently after morning drop-off. Laced with pasta to make a quick lunch. Poured into a mug and sipped at the counter while watching the rain comes down outside your kitchen window. When days are busy and the weather closes in, warm food becomes continuity. A way to mark time. A way to say: I am still here. I am still feeding myself. I am still paying attention.

So today, don’t solve anything. Don’t plan anything. Don’t improve anything. Just eat something warm. Let it anchor you in this moment — in this weather, on this island, literal or metaphorical, in this exact season of your life. That’s enough for today.