You know, there are moments when I sit down to write this blog and I wonder why. I don't wonder why I write, that suits me, but it seems so random lately, like my life, increasingly without structure, and I wonder what that says. But maybe I am also just wondering what it is about structure, about defining myself by some external structure and standard, that makes it seem so important. Isn't just life enough? Yes, probably, for living. I'm still not so sure about blogging. Perhaps blogging itself requires a structure. And yet I see that the blogging serves its own purpose in my own process, and so here I am.
But perhaps it is that same process of structure and releasing oneself from the constraints of structure that continues to wend its way through my own psyche. For example I have rearranged and resettled in the apartment, making small changes really but important ones that make it feel more like home. And I realize that part of that sense of home has always revolved around my conflicting needs for order and organization as opposed to my tendency to make a mess. I need to get what I want in the middle of creative burst, and I need to be able to restore it to order when that burst has exhausted itself.
I am also learning to increasingly let go of control. Enter the dinner party, my first for friends. Family has been here a couple of times already. The table is set. The main course is ready. We were having Chicken Tikka Masala and Jeera Rice. And then I partially relinquished control. My usual mode is to have as much done as possible in advance, so I can sit back, enjoy the company, and not worry about burning something. Once people arrive, I'm all about having fun, rather than slaving away in the kitchen, and over the decades I've refined my techniques to meet that end. But it usually all about control, control, control, and a moment of release.
This time I let go a bit. I did the advance prep, slicing radishes on a mandolin, meticulously cutting tomatoes into tiny cubes, for after all, who wants people drinking and chatting while using sharp instruments? Then I grouped together the cumin, lemon, cilantro, ginger for a radish salad, but did not assemble said salad. The same with the tomatoes. When everyone arrived, we greeted each other, hugged and moved into the kitchen. Rather than siting and chatting and waiting for the food to miraculously appear, we all took a station, one person making radish salad, one assembling the kachumbar, one cooking the Gujarati green beans, one gathering the nibbles. Then we adjourned to talk while the flavors of the vegetables took their time to meld. I thought it was fun. Advance prep was still required, but it felt less pressured. Everyone made something. The ingredients were suggested but not required, so each dish varied according to its creator. I relinquished control and we each made our own contributions to the flavors of the meal. Then we talked and ate for hours.
At the end of the meal my guests offered to help clean up, and I said yes. This is in direct opposition to my older control-driven self, who would have sent everyone home and had my own contemplative cleaning session. We all piled back into the kitchen. We washed and dried and put things away and chatted. I had so much fun; it seemed like everyone else did as well. Everything came full circle. At the end of the evening, I dried a few last dishes, started the dishwasher and sat back with a cat on my lap, filled with joy and contentment.
This morning my apartment feels like home, more so than it did yesterday. It is a place for me, a sanctuary from the world, but also a haven of companionship. My friends and I blessed this place with laughter, conversation, and shared activities; there will only be more laughter, more conversation, more sharing in the future. Most importantly, I learned something more about letting down walls. Sunday felt like the perfect mix of my enjoyment of playing in the kitchen, blending spices, creating the setting and then sharing with friends and letting other voices, other views help shape the meal. It was is if my understanding of sharing food had come to a new level. I love having people over, and I love feeding people, but the food is only the medium. For me cooking is like play, it is my joy and my gift. but I have to let others in. It would have probably been just as much fun if we'd had hot dogs and beans. Except that I probably wouldn't, well maybe hot dog goulash, which has been one of my favorite comfort foods since a college friend made it for me oh so many decades ago. In short it doesn't matter what the food is, just that it is shared.
Two of the pictures in this post were posted on Instagram yesterday. I'm not convinced I like cross-publishing, but I haven't worked out the details yet. I like the Instagram format, with photos as short snippets of life, combined with wordier posts here, but I also feel I need photos on the blog, so there is overlap. But there may or may not be overlap in audience, I'm not sure. I may never work that out. It seems life is often not as easily categorized as I might like.
