Today was a difficult sort of day. It was the kind of day that reminds me that I am not a part of generation Y so much as a member of generation why the f*** don’t I have a real job yet?
I lead a double life. I don’t mean like a superhero, alter ego kind of life, just one where I struggle to align the daily with the still yet to come. It's physically demanding to be a housekeeper; it's less of a workout for the brain. I’m not sure if you are familiar with the mechanics of a toilet brush, so let me enlighten you: it requires precious little brain space to swab out a toilet bowl, and that leaves a whole lot of legroom for thinking, or overthinking, or perhaps even worrying. And if I worry a subject too hard, the void between toilet brush and successful publishing career seems to be too wide to traverse. That’s where the double life comes in; the daily balance that I work at, hard, in order to enjoy the now, and still move towards the future – to not get so comfortable in the present that I give up on my aspirations, but to permit myself some slack, and maybe even some pride, in my daily life as well. My current lifestyle is, perhaps, not utilizing my brain's full capacity; it is, however, a serious exercise in spunk and devotion.
While chopping some fruit this afternoon, I got lost. I started worrying about the bigger picture, and as a reality check, I nicked my finger slicing my afternoon snack. Stay in the moment I scolded myself, a phrase that has become almost a daily mantra.
That’s why I cook; and why I cook the way I cook. I make it up on the spot, I don’t pre-meditate meals for the week, and I habitually forget my shopping list at home. When I cook, I just go. I think about the ingredients in front of me, the nutritional balance they can provide, the textures I can coax from them, and the commingling flavors that will create the perfect bite. Cooking happens, for me, with a sense of urgency, and it requires a focus that becomes a relief. There is no extra headroom for self-nagging, only excitement at what I am creating. When I cook, I simply take what I have and I turn it into something delicious, and that is what I ask of myself on a daily basis as well – go with what you’ve got, and make it good.
I shuffled upstairs to grab a band-aid from underneath my bathroom sink for the minor cut on my index finger. As I popped the top on the blue box, I noticed for the first time that underneath the Band-Aid logo are the words, “You’re going to be just fine!”
It’s easy when you’re little, when a band-aid and a kiss really do fix the problem. My parents never bought those hip, commercial band-aids, the ones with characters on them like Mickey Mouse, or Big Bird, or the Care Bears, etc. We just had plain, tan, band-aids. But after he removed my splinter (my parents' house is a douglas fir, exposed post and beam architectural wonder – I got a lot of splinters as a child), and put a bandage over the wound, my dad would take the ballpoint pen from his shirt pocket and let me draw a small scene on the band-aid. It was no longer the tan thing covering the cut, it was my blank canvas, and that made the getting scraped up part seem worth it.
You’re going to be just fine! I mulled that over as I wrapped my finger. I don’t believe in fortunes, horoscopes, or psychic readings, but if the band-aid box says it, well, I think it might be something to consider.
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