Lately I've had a love/hate relationship with cooking; leaning mostly on the hate side. Oh, I like to pretend that I love it: this mixing of ingredients to create something beautiful and life-giving. Aroma, color, flavor, nourishment. An art, science, expertise, passion and basic necessity all rolled into one. But regardless of what's in my fridge or pantry, there's always one ingredient I am always short on: time. Insufficient time makes my chicken dry, my rice undercooked, my veggies freezer-burned or unsavory. Insufficient time forces me into a monotonous rotation of various stir-fries and casseroles, consequently landing me with more raman, bagels, and peanut-butter-and-jelly than my body was made to handle. Worst of all, insufficient time leads me to scarf down an unseasoned meal after a long and breathless day while skimming an article 15 minutes before I dash off again for work. At the end of the day I crash, exhausted, mind racing mercilessly over what I failed to accomplished that day, and how I can cram that dropped item into the next day's already crammed schedule. This is grad school...who has time to cook?
I hate cooking because it interrupts my drive to achieve. It forces me to slow down, to plan ahead, to wait. Then at the end I don't have anything to present to the world to make me feel accomplished because it ends up in my belly. What's the value in that!? In a world that pushes us to constantly perform and produce more and more, it can be a struggle to follow through with basic care for myself. As much as I would like to, I can't fast 6 hours without consequences felt in my energy, attention, and mood. A limit is imposed on me which keeps me from constantly performing.
I appreciate cooking for the same reasons I hate it: I need to develop the discipline necessary to slow down, plan ahead, and wait. Cooking, walking, and cleaning seem to be basic life-tasks which most enforce a more modest pace. These activities cause me to notice other ways I take short-cuts through
life so I can skip to the
outcomes.
I struggle to look people in the eye when they speak, or notice when they need to be heard.
I don't always give myself permission to feel what I need to feel.
I deny my body the sleep, and my mind the rest, I was designed to need. I likewise deny others the care I was designed to give.
I use the phrase "pray without ceasing" as an excuse to avoid devotion and intimacy with God.
Ultimately my irritation at slowing down
only reveals that I care more about my accomplishments and performances than I do about myself, God, or others. Praise God for the limits He imposed on our mortal bodies, to demand things like food and sleep. Praise God for designing us to cry when we're overwhelmed, break down when we're overstressed, and loose focus when we're overtired. Otherwise I might zip through life, serving my own devices, never connecting with the people I truly need. Never allowing God to be God, never letting myself just
be myself.
Therapists talk about creating a
"Holding Environment," in which clients can breathe, process, and emote without the pressure of time or judgement, without the need for answers, achievement, or progress. The goal is to do nothing, just be. This is one of the foundational aspects of good psychotherapy: inviting the client to just be. The office becomes a Thin Place where someone in pain or confusion can sit and rest, and, after a while, maybe catch a glimmer of Hope. I can't help but confess how often I fail to create that Holding Space for myself and those I love. How would counseling as a field, or how would our world in general, be different if we could do this for ourselves? For each other?
So if anyone wants to give me cooking lessons, I would be a reluctant, impatient, and disastrously hopeless student. But I would nonetheless be eternally grateful.
