I admit it.
I’d like to be like Someone Awesome.
You know that person out there, who is genius at doing something you want to do?
That person you admire?
Maybe you keep it secret, to yourself.
But you know, they’re so cool and have lots of…..(fill in the blank) and you wish you could be that way, too.
Except.
The urge for perfection is tricky….and not so very happy.
It’s very stressful to consider yourself less than perfect, less than the ideal version you see in your mind’s eye, whether it’s you or someone else you think is (or could be) better.
The thing is, this “ideal” version can always float in the background, no matter how advanced, or evolved, or improved you become.
The other day, my mom stopped by for a visit.
She had texted a few hours before, so I knew she was coming.
Mostly, my thoughts were thrilled. I hadn’t seen her in a month since she’d been traveling through Israel and Jordan with a large group on a long-awaited adventure. I couldn’t wait to ask her about her trip.
And then I had the thought, only about 20 minutes before she arrived when I opened my fridge and stared into it….
….oh no.
It’s going to be supper time.
Shoot.
It would be polite to offer….well….dinner.
She said she’d be visiting around 5:20 pm and needed to be at her band practice at 7:00 pm.
It sounds like dinner time.
Oops. Panic. Dang it.
Sure enough…..just 20 minutes later she entered my living room, took off her coat and said, “You got anything to eat? I only have a protein bar in my car. I’m a little off on the time zone.”
There is no better way to reveal my imperfection than with cooking and meal preparation.
Yes, I do teach eating peace. I am that same person.
I teach peaceful eating, mindful eating. Twenty years ago I binge-ate and obsessed about too much or not enough or what’s right with food, and now I feel far more normal when it comes to intake and output, hunger and fullness.
But that’s with feeling the right amount.
As in, I feel hungry, I eat. I feel full, I stop.
I am sooooo happy with this situation.
I don’t exactly care that much about cooking. Or dishes. Or recipes. Or what goes with what.
I just notice I enjoy eating (never the case before because it was fraught with so much agony and conflict) and I like it right there. No intense passion for flavors or menus or anything like that. I honestly can’t be bothered or get myself to focus on planning meals.
Not even close.
So my mother says she’s hungry and my mind is already thinking “You knew this would happen, what’s wrong with you? Why didn’t you race to the store?”
I make black sticky rice (we always have packages of sticky rice from Uwajimaya Grocery Store in the cupboard) and steamed broccoli.
My mom is a kind of health nut.
I have grated cheese for a topping. That should be OK. I hope.
Now, already, a day later….this is all kind of funny.
But soooo serious yesterday.
Worry. Not perfect. Screwed up on dinner hour awareness. Not a good cook.
Bad.
…..Time for inquiry…..
Who would I be without the belief that the very best most perfect version of me would whip up a little supper meal in an instant and please my mother thoroughly?
Who would I be without the belief that I should know how, and want, to cook dinner?
Who would I be without the belief that I should like something I don’t like?
People feel worried about this not with just meal-making, but partners, jobs, houses, vacation plans, their bodies.
You dream of the other ideal Someone Better you wish you could be.
Who would you be without the belief that what you like and want should be true?
Oh.
You mean, like if yesterday I thought….”I’ve got rice and broccoli and cheese….but even that, I don’t want to hover over in the kitchen. Who wants to watch the stove…anyone??”
I could ask for what I want.
I could laugh.
Yesterday, the “bad dinner” was so serious.
It really, was!
Until I questioned my thoughts of perfection and the ideal version of Grace the cook.
Turning the thought around: In that exact moment and situation, I should be just as I was. With just those ingredients in my fridge. Standing with my mother at that exact dinner hour. Wanting to please and offer supper, and not feeling up to the job.
Hmmmm.
How could this be true, or truer?
That was the reality.
I notice…..everyone lived.
There is a crack, a crack in everything
That’s how the light gets in.”
Today she wrote me a note…..
…..”thanks for the great supper last night!”
Much love,
Grace
P.S. Peace Talk this week. A little lighter topic: Life and Death.