I’ve lost a lot of sleep lately with anxiety manifesting itself in the form of interior decorating. Paint color to be exact. It’s been a year since we moved in and it’s time to finish this madness. Do you know how many shades of white have been invented? Too many. You see, it took a long time for me to even get to white. And, even so, it’s now turned to vanilla cream or canvas. Though, hazy sky and urban putty keep creeping in and laughing at me behind my back.
I’ve now employed my friend, Sindy, to help navigate my twisted style preferences of the day. She’s pretty handy since she accepts payment in the form of rugs I buy but no longer like or for which I have no more room. Her weapon of choice is asking me what I like. And, that’s the problem.
I like so many things, I can’t narrow it down. My husband’s patience and our funds are wearing thin with my failed attempts. I’m starting to think the problem is that I’ve been lacking the courage to determine what I don’t like in order to rule crap out. I’m not really one for passing judgment easily which is a trait I usually value in myself. The down side is an extreme undermining of my self-judgment, as of late. So, I told this to a therapist and she ended up telling me all about herself for a full half-hour and told me I should be doing this and should be doing that, which included her recommending I get a colorful couch like hers which happened to be a repeating pattern of montaged Monet. This is when I decided I didn’t need to go back to her despite her slow, concerned insistence that I was going through sooooo much and should really see her for the duration of my free sessions I get through work. Bottom-line, that couch was fugly. And, there it was. The spark of hope that I could make a judgment and be completely okay with it.
I didn’t think about that again until today but that freedom to judge, to make mistakes, to try and try again is precisely what I love about cooking. It’s up to me. If I screw up, there’s another meal in a few hours to try again. Some mistakes are beautiful. Sometimes, I enjoy just being surrounded with gorgeous ingredients. I don’t obsess. I just flow. This is the same feeling I have when traveling with Aubrey. Judgment without fear or guilt, knowing that whatever way we decide to turn, wherever we decide to sleep, however we get there, we’re gonna love every second of it. Maybe it’s not so much the knowing but the decision to love every second of it that counts. Maybe its allowing something to be without definition. Damn. I’m already better than my therapist.
So, that was the lately and here’s the candor...
My parents are getting divorced after about 30 years together and it's messing with me in weird and deep ways.
So, interpret my decorating dillema as you will.
Also, I sorta hate writing this blog. Not so much the idea of writing, because I love writing. And, not so much the topic of Aubrey, food, and travel, because I love these, too. In fact, these are things I am most sure of in my entire life. It’s more about what the idea of this blog meant to me. I approached this thing with extreme ambition, over-thought, and under-execution. Sorta like decorating… hmmm?!?
I took tap lessons when I was younger and got really mad at my instructor because she made me shuffle, ball, heel all flippin’ lesson when all I wanted to do was go Shirley Temple on her ass. It wasn’t that I thought I was advanced. I loved learning. I was just really embarrassed at displaying my lack of skill in front of everyone in the meantime… I wanted to learn in private.
Confession: I used to watch my traffic counts daily. If that's not the cart before the horse I don't know what is. I fantasized about being the next Pioneer Woman. This is embarrassing to admit but I bet I’m not alone in this feeling, especially among the many budding food bloggers out there. The internet is the great equalizer. Anyone can make it in the age of reality stars and American Idol, after all. So, I picked a name. I picked a theme. I picked a differentiating factor. I felt regret for not having a comprehensive business plan or the time to conduct the necessary market research. In other words, I turned this into a work ambition and I started to hate doing it. I hate the disappointment I feel when my posts are lame, when my voice is forced, or when I hear the ring of inauthenticity in my tone. I hate the guilt I feel when I don’t post. Ugh.
I don’t know what I’m doing in the kitchen any more than I know what I’m doing when I travel or when I’m buying rugs or paint or trying to figure myself out. I’ve just embraced enjoying the process and the beauty of the kitchen and travel (I’ll get there with the others.) I don’t like writing like I know anything and for some reason I've felt compelled to write this way. I much prefer learning as I go and now I’m feeling comfortable doing it out loud without boundaries or embarrassment. I don't know if you'll see changes but I'll feel changes so that's good. Trusty 44 followers... thanks for taking this journey with me. I’m deciding to have some fun with it now. Also, please don't worry about me unless I start posting videos like this:
New York City and Brooklyn Dining
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