With less than 72 hours until moving day week, emotions are running high around here. My parents have scheduled their cry sessions such that at any given meal, logistics meeting, or passing hello, one of them is always crying to some extent. Sometimes it’s a classy, low-key eye watering but at other times it’s full-blown ugly crying in the company of close friends who make Savannah’s best and deadliest lemon drop martinis. I’ve been sporting the “single but sizeable tear rolling slowly down the right cheek” look most days which is perfect for maintaining my status as an enigma. Potential witnesses to my left are left in the dark with only those to my right — and my dear readership, of course — privy to my emotional depth.
“But he had underestimated the strangeness of talking about the future of his life with someone for whom the future still seemed unbounded: a pleasure palace of choices, with infinite doors, in which only a fool would spend his time trapped in one room.”
– Zadie Smith, On Beauty
As my most recent chapter in Savannah comes to a close, I do actually find myself feeling all the feels. First and foremost I’m so freaking excited!!! No part of me wants to back out or thinks that I should have chosen a school closer to home or, God forbid, in Savannah. Though I loved spring breaks spent wandering River Street — I was partial to the candy kitchens in particular — I never felt at home here. I’m so ready to settle into my new city/state/coast and discover new hot spots, find a cute barista, and hike my way to the answer of the age old question: Am I a mountain mama or a beach babe? I predict that my life will basically become the staycation version of Eat, Pray, Love. But between daydreams of men in plaid flannel chopping wood and daydreams of shirtless men chopping wood (“To every thing there is a season […]” – Ecclesiastes 3:1), apprehensions arise. My First Day Jitters are here two weeks early and, y’all, it is my fervent prayer that an extrovert will adopt me the minute I walk into orientation and maybe want to keep me for awhile or forever.
In times of stress I like to turn to boys and booze but last night I gave chamomile tea and bubble bath a try instead. Ya know… self-care, healthy choices, yada yada. It was “the worst trade deal in the history of trade deals, maybe ever” as they say. So tonight I took to the kitchen to work through my emotions.
Ever since I could eat solid food, I’ve had a ferocious appetite. I was on diets by age 5 and though the diets changed as I grew the unifying message was always to care less about food. Just think of it as energy. Don’t look to it to aid in celebration or to abate sadness. In more recent years I quickly jumped on board with meal replacement programs in the interest of fitting healthy eating into my busy schedule and getting fast results like in their ads. In true “go big or go home” fashion with which I approach almost everything in life, I’d buy months worth of products and inevitably be over it long before I ate even half of my inventory.
I eventually realized that I needed to flip the script. If I’m really into food, work with that passion rather than fight it. For me, demonizing food and reducing time in the kitchen was actually more negative than positive. Though there are definite perks to meal planning, even that tried and true dieting tool isn’t usually a good fit for me, depending on the season of my life. Eating the same meal five times in a week sounds terrible and I generally get more satisfaction out of freshly made dinners than leftovers. If I’m getting more satisfaction, I’m less likely to hunt for a snack mere minutes after dinner.
For me, cooking is usually a meditative and therapeutic experience. It allows for a nice combination of creativity and productivity when the rest of life may feel too regimented or messy or beyond my control. Once upon a final exam week, I made a salmon chowder so delicious that dad raved about it even though it was creamy, spicy, and had kale <– three of his least favorite things. This culinary feat was just as rewarding as passing o chem!
By grocerying with care, cooking, plating, then photographing my meals before I eat, I’m already halfway full before I’m even a few bites in. It’s the new emotional eating.
Butternut Squash Soup with Pumpkin Seeds
Bok Choy Leaf Salad feat. Hickory Smoked Balsamic Vinegar from La Terra.
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