Power of a Muffin

 I was recently at a building inspection on an island. The inspector was coming from the mainland—busy, in demand, and not the easiest to schedule. Unlike in Greenwich, where I’ve known inspectors for over 20 years and can text them like old friends, I didn’t know Dennis at all. All I had to go on was the buyer’s agent’s endorsement: “He’s the real deal. Leaves no stone unturned.” Which is exactly what you want to hear, unless you’re the one selling the house. 

On the way from the airport, the realtor and I stopped at Roast, my favorite coffee shop. I am, admittedly, a diva when it comes to food and drink—I don’t just like good quality, I require it. And when I find something I love, I become its most loyal and borderline obsessive fan. Roast’s baked goods are in a category all their own: warm, nostalgic, and slightly magical. I picked up a muffin for myself, and on a kind of instinct, one for the inspector too. 

Dennis arrived two hours late—a scheduling hiccup. The old version of me might’ve spiraled a little: tight timeline, ticking clock, flight home looming. But these days I try to live by my own advice—don’t sweat the small stuff. And besides, first impressions matter. 

So, I handed him the muffin. 

You’d have thought I’d handed him a diamond. He thanked me once, then again, then about six more times as he worked—muffin in hand, smile on face. 

It’s funny how something so small can shift the energy of a day. A muffin won’t change the outcome of an inspection, but it might 

change the tone of it. It might remind someone that they’re seen, appreciated, human. 

In my experience, it’s rarely the grand gestures that move the needle. It’s the tiny kindnesses, the warm coffee, the surprise muffin. And let’s be honest—most problems in life would be at least slightly improved with a good baked good.