The other night The Hubs and I made a beautiful home-cooked meal. We spent the day grocery shopping, picking up our favourite odds and ends. We snuggled into our tiny kitchen and created a dinner together. This may seem innocuous. And it would have been had it not been for two things. 1) It had been forever since The Man and I had made a meal together. 2) It got me thinking about the timely manner of a home cooked meal. Especially considering I’ve been doing a lot of internal home-coming as of late.
There was a beautiful dance going on that evening between the content and the process. My husband and I made some of our favourite things- asparagus, pan roasted chicken with garlic and thyme, roasted tomatoes with goat feta, sauteed mushrooms with pea shoots (a-la-Thomas-Keller). A beautiful, seasonal dinner that, from beginning to end, felt like home. We bumped into each other as our kitchen is the size of a shoe box. We made space for one another and reminded each other not to touch the hot pans as we pulled dish after dish out of the oven. When we want to we can move pretty seamlessly together in small spaces. Tonight was no different.
But as I had mentioned previously, this meal was timely. As a woman, a social worker, a wife, a partner, a writer, a daughter, a sister, a person- I feel like I’ve been working tirelessly at my personal “coming home.” As with many folks my age, I too have been struggling to figure out what makes me happy. What am I passionate about? What makes me feel integrated and whole? What makes me feel vibrant and alive and vital?
I feel connected to a generation of men and women that are grappling with finding a balance between what is practical and what we are passionate about. Between what pays the bills and what makes us feel alive and excited. I think that balance is at the core of coming home. Coming home to ourselves is realizing that we can do things very differently from generations past.
I am amazed by my friends that are taking great leaps left and right. Following their dreams, their passions and using that as a spring board to a fruitful living as opposed to indulging in their passions as an afterthought or a hobby.
I’m not claiming to have figured this out. But for myself I have come to this realization: I can’t dare to dream what is even possible for me when I am operating out of fear (You see? You put a gal into Yoga and all of a sudden she starts spouting profound bits of wisdom). I am surrounded by bravery and inspires me to be brave, too. It inspires me to say things like “I want to be a food writing, cocktail making, photographing, florist, lady of leisure.”
So here’s to being brave, to taking risks, to being willing to fail, to being willing to succeed. Here’s to leaping. Here’s to creating. Here’s to letting go of our fear and calling upon all of our resources to allow us to dream big and perhaps even believe that those dreams are possible.
And you all thought you were reading a food blog? Ha! This past year I was just luring you in to join me in my wisdom quest….Jokes. Food writing is my dream! So thank you for reading. Thank you for supporting me in moving forward, to opening up to believing that maybe one day, this whole thing could be more than just a lofty dream.
And without further ado, dinner is served. Cheers!