Week 1: Nourish

As I write this, I have a quiche in the oven. I’m drinking a cup of tea and the snow is falling in fat flakes outside. It’s a heavy, all-encompassing snow that mutes everything. I feel like I’m at the end of the movie, the closing shot where everything falls into place for the protagonist.

Sometimes as I go through life, I try to determine what part of the movie each moment would be. The last year or so would be condensed into a montage of me building my professional skills. But that’s the thing -- the movies don’t show the work, they brush past it (hence the montage), because more often than not the work is actually quite boring.

The only reason this moment today would be included in the movie is to showcase how everything worked out. There would be a closeup on my face with an ambiguous expression before slowly zooming out, leaving me alone in my space as the snow falls. I can see it.

Picturesque, isn’t it?

The Aforementioned Quiche (I am choosing to embrace imperfections - like the focus on this photo)

This week I’ve been reflecting on the idea of nourishment. I confronted my inability to embrace quiet moments, like cooking for myself or properly cleaning my apartment. The moments you don’t really see in the montage. The moments that are too boring to make it to the screen. Historically, I’ve seen these moments as a waste of my energy, my time, and my focus.

The last few days I’ve been trying to release that mindset. I devoted yesterday to nourishing myself. I made good, healthy food, went to the grocery store, and cleaned some long-neglected parts of my apartment. 

It felt good. It felt really good. And now today I can bask in those labors and enjoy the richness of the day as thoroughly as possible (the snow helps). 

Often I feel like trying to hold a moment is like trying to hold water in your palm. They always slip through. I’m always aware that there is never enough time. I feel an underlying pressure to make whatever I’m doing as efficient as possible. Before I get out of bed, I strategize the order in which I’ll go to my closet (and what I’ll wear), use the bathroom, and what I’ll make for breakfast, to make every second of my morning count. In college, I refused to tie my shoelaces until I was standing at the bus stop because I would be standing and waiting for the bus anyway. There’s nothing I hate more than moments of inevitable inefficiency.

I’m not sure where it stems from, but as I reflect I see this pattern woven throughout most of my life. I want to use my free time as efficiently as possible. And isn’t that a sad statement? Being efficient in my free time.

But let’s get back to nourishment. The word reminds me to try and unravel this punishing thought of constant efficiency. It’s a reminder that it’s okay to take more than 10 minutes to make a healthy lunch, or to tie my shoes before stepping outside. This is not a race, it’s not a competition. And unlike a montage, I will get to live every moment -- there are no cuts, no moments that will slip away unfelt. 

So that brings me back to this morning. The snow falling in clumps outside, drenching the world in quiet. Sleeping until I wake up on my own, drinking my tea, and feeling my fingers press each key on the keyboard. Slowing down until the montage fades and we’re steady on the closeup. But there’s no ambiguity in my expression, because it’s just contentment. And for now, that’s enough.

Until next time.