Category Archives: On My Mind

On My Mind

Avoidance

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It’s always interesting to watch myself when I’m afraid to be alone with my own thoughts. I start to feel really busy in the sense that I have things to do that I normally enjoy, but are now part of a list to keep me doing something.

Exhibit A: Write this instead of close the laptop and spend some time with my thoughts.

What might happen if I do that, if I put away the distraction that helps me avoid addressing what’s going on in my head?

There are several things I could do that are not digital, let’s be clear. I could concoct something in the kitchen, I could run through some language flashcards, I could start practicing a new guitar song. But I’m not doing those things because those are things I love, not activities I want to hide behind.

Instead I’m writing this blog post, in which I am acknowledging that I am avoiding something and doing a rather excellent job of not attending to it.

And I laugh at myself because while this is deeply personal, it also helps me feel a lot better.

And now I can move on, explore the contents of my thoughts, and pursue the things I enjoy.

Sometimes it’s enough to say, “There is something bothering me.”

Sometimes it’s enough to shout secrets from the rooftops, even if there’s no one there listening.

On My Mind

As Told by Cookbooks

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I’m not sleeping very well, and I can guess why. International moves are not easy at the best of times, and a pandemic is a far cry from the best of times!

It’s an adventure, they say. A story to tell your grandchildren! I have all sorts of cynical responses to that. It certainly is an adventure, but so far not quite the one I had hoped it would be.

But life is like that, isn’t it? And that’s why life is a journey. If we could sit over a cup of coffee and write the whole thing before even starting, there really wouldn’t be much point.

Lately I’ve been doing a lot of cooking, which I find fulfilling, relaxing, and a productive way of maintaining a sense of control over my world. Along with this, I’ve also been leafing through my cookbooks and rereading my notes. My mum taught me to annotate my recipes and so I have. My first attempt at making something and how it went, changes to ingredients or methods, any special occasions or memories.

But what really makes me laugh, what makes me wish I could give my younger self a hug, are all the mentions of who was with me when I first tried different recipes. How many times did that person appear in the cookbook? And then what happened to them? My attempted love stories through cooking. And it makes me laugh because I remember purposely not writing in someone’s name because I didn’t think they’d be around that long (I was wrong) and I remember proudly doing just the opposite because I thought I’d found something meaningful (also wrong).

My oldest cookbooks are eleven years old and it’s wonderful to reflect upon myself through them. The notes remind me how far I’ve come as a cook and how long it has been since I first made a recipe or got to know a particular person. Not only have my tastes, culinary skills, and cuisine interests changed significantly, but I have changed, too. I have to smile at the thought of what might be recorded in cookbooks to come.

Perhaps I’m feeling nostalgic because I’ve made the choice to conclude this chapter and I know what I’m leaving behind. I am not nearly as confident about what I am going toward. But that’s why they call it an adventure. And my future cookbooks will doubtless reflect the ride.

Rochester Public Market, Rochester, New York – June 2019
On My Mind

Homesick

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is not a word that I use. It is not a word that I like because it connotes being taken over by something – this is, after all, what happens when we are sick. It is one thing to miss my family, which is the case every single day, but this is an emotion like love. It’s beautiful to notice because it means they matter to me. Missing my family is a deep sensation, one that I feel through my whole body, but one that comes in waves.

However, it seems that to be homesick is beyond what I feel. It is what I am, and it is consuming.

I settled on this word because I could not otherwise describe how I felt after a perfectly normal, pleasantly busy day over the weekend. Out of nowhere came the sense that a physical space was suddenly empty, as though it had been full of energy mere minutes before and something was now gone. In that empty space came the feeling that anything I tried to do, and I tried a number of things, had a missing piece that had not previously been missing.

Writing these words brings to mind when I was a child and I used to have a hard time during our one-night sleepover at camp. By the second or third year, we figured out that as long as I “didn’t plan to stay” and my dad had to bring my bag or pillow, I would be alright. I just needed a hug. When I was little, my dad could put my whole world back together when it seemed to fall apart.

Both age and life experience assure me that my world has not fallen apart. Quite the contrary, in fact. Rather, it seems like the larger world has moved on while my world is floating aimlessly, looking for somewhere to land. There is a fist over my heart and it is keeping me awake at night, which makes it difficult to focus during the day. I am exhausted when I get home and time ticks by more slowly than usual. Homesick. What else might I call it?

And just like being physically ill, this will pass. It will settle. Have some tea, take some time, and life in general will move on. Homesickness will quiet into its usual state, that of missing, and the world will fit itself back together.

Until then, let this be a visceral, bodily reminder that the people in my world are what make it go round.

Punakaiki, South Island, New Zealand – December 2018