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I can't say I love to cook. Or even that I have any skill whatsoever in the kitchen. But I do like to make my own food, or at least pick it out. It comes down, once again, to perfection and control.
I'm the girl who has the special order at a restaurant, driving the chef nuts with the "light salt, sauce on side, substitute penne for spaghetti" kind of ordering. I've tried to stop this, if for no other reason that the eye rolls of annoyance from my dining companions
At home, I like to "put together" my meals ( I won't even call it cooking!) But I still get hung up. A little more dressing, only this brand cheese, this zucchini is too bruised to eat... it goes on and on. I find myself getting up from the table, adding or subtracting this or that, searching for that perfect bite. But it never comes.
No matter how great I get at creating my meal, it will still only be... just a meal. And in the end, all the fidgeting and worrying about the taste or substance of what I'm eating only takes away from the actually experience of eating. Searching for the perfect meal only leaves me not experiencing it all all. A daze of worry makes food turn to ashes.
Washing off my plate I realized I was only filling up on anxiety, and am left the empty sensation of failing to meet my own standard of perfection.
What would it mean to taste each bite, not looking for what is wrong with it or how to fix it, but exploring and accepting it for just...what...it...is?