a serious interjection: on solitude

I found myself craving their voices, laughter. I wanted to be in a room and know someone was near me. I wanted my nephew's loud, yet shockingly beautiful voice to fill my ears. I wanted my mom in the kitchen and the smell of her cooking to fill the house. I spent a week surrounded by my family and I loved it.

But then I get this ache. This ache in myself of which part of me feels ashamed. I lovelovelove my family, but after a few days, a piece of me starts to need solitude. This is who I am.

So I bid farewell to my favorite people in the world and said I had to leave for no other reason than to relax, alone. They love and know me well enough to understand and let me go.

 (image)

I drove home and entered my beautifully quiet house. I threw my bags on the ground and laced up my running shoes and clocked 4 easy, sunny, relaxing miles. I didn't have to explain to anyone how I needed these miles - I just did them. I planned 3 ambitious (but not too ambitious) and healthy (but not too healthy) meals for myself. I headed to my favorite food stores where I took an obscene amount of time to browse the produce aisles and comment to complete strangers on the beauty of the apples. They agreed.

I chatted with the man at the fish counter and told him I needed tilapia for one. He picked out the best filet for me. I know the folks at the bakery. They laughed when I told them how much I enjoyed the last cupcake I bought there and offered me free samples of Irish Soda bread drowned in butter while we decided what cupcake I needed tonight. Double chocolate for the win. I lingered, picked out a nice bottle of wine, and headed home alone. I showered, threw on my rattiest and comfiest pajamas, and turned on HGTV. 

When alone, I do these things without thinking. They bring me joy, despite their ridiculousness. When I'm around other people I worry about what they would think that I wear my PJ's and pour myself a glass of wine at 5 in the afternoon. Alone, I do it and I am happy.

After an hour on the couch I rise to start the slow and therapeutic process of cooking myself dinner. There will be too much food and most people would probably just get take out, but I love this process. Chopping and whisking. Transforming separate ingredients into something wonderful. I have a chocolate cupcake waiting for me and I don't have to share it. This is the perfect evening. I need this.

A Serious Interjection: there is nothing wrong or shameful about needing moments alone. They refuel me, refresh me, and most importantly, make me happy. As I write this post I am still reveling in my alone-ness. And, when I turn on the TV to watch the Pioneer Woman at 10 on a Saturday morning while baking unnecessary treats and drinking too much black coffee I will not feel ashamed or guilty - I will simply feel happy.


 --
Previous serious interjections:
on perfection 
on disappointment 
on persistence

a serious interjection: on persistence

I was entering mile 9 of my 12th for the day and I wasn't going to make it. The sparkling water and pile of raw carrots and peanut butter I had downed two hours before just wasn't a good idea. My legs were a heavy mess. As I ran, feeling every single painful stroke, I was bribing myself to finish. This was proving to be one of the hardest long runs I had ever tackled and it certainly didn't help that the last two miles of this run were more or less solid hill - uphill.

I turned the corner and two fit older women looked up at me. One of the women said to the other, "Doesn't she have the most beautiful running gait?"

And I was transformed. 

In that moment and with those words I was reminded that after a certain mileage, running is 90% mental. With her words behind me, my attitude shifted and I pushed on. 

As I ran I remembered how that in college, when I first became active, my runs were slow and clunky and red-faced. I have worked hard - pushed myself to the limit - to be able to walk out the door and clock 12 miles on a Monday afternoon. I was finishing this run and not even a stomach full of raw carrots and tired legs could stop me.

And with these women's kind words in my my mind I finished. The hills were still hard and my stomach was still wonky, but I changed my attitude - and it made all the difference.

A Serious Interjection: Just keep going.

 --
Previous serious interjections:
on perfection 
on disappointment

a serious interjection: on disappointment

I had the best intentions.

Saturday was my boyfriend, M's, birthday. I had grand dreams of creating him a luxurious layered birthday cake. My very first layered cake.

He requested a coconut cream cake. We recently ate the most decadently wonderful coconut cream cake together at a farmer's market and have been drooling over its memories ever since. After careful consideration and consultation with M, I chose to make what seemed like a laboriously wonderful recipe, Bobby Flay Throwdown's toasted coconut cake with coconut filling and coconut buttercream.

Preparation began days in advance. I read and re-read the recipe and made a list of ingredients. I had to buy a new cake pan. I had to hit the liquor store for coconut rum. I had to track down vanilla beans.

Saturday morning (birthday day) I was at the grocery store and home toasting coconut by 9:30 AM. I worked on this cake until 7:00 PM. Not constantly, but I was more or less was mixing, cooling, baking, assembling, or thinking about some cake related detail this entire time.

First, I toasted coconut to pat on the outside of the cake.

Next, I made a coconut-infused simple syrup to brush on each cake layer.

Then, I made a coconut custard to incorporate into the filling and buttercream.

I made the cake batter and baked off two cake layers.

The day progressed and after the custard cooled for 2 hours, I incorporated it into the coconut filling

and the coconut buttercream.

Finally, I assembled what I anticipated to be the most magical birthday cake M or I had ever experienced. Magical because I had created it and magical in its deliciousness.

After dinner, M and I returned home from a nice dinner out, where we happily resisted the dessert menu in anticipation of the homemamde cocnonut cream cake awaiting us.

Candles were lit, the cake was cut, and slices were served alongside cool glasses of milk.

I shoved a piece in my mouth with a smile and paused. This cake, my creation, it wasn't great. In fact, it wasn't even really good. It was too light, a bit bland, not sweet enough, the buttercream was too buttery, and the filling wasn't at all what I had thought it would be. 

I kept eating. I even went back for a second sliver. I kept waiting to be satisfied. It never came. The cake just wasn't what I wanted it to be. Disappointment washed over me.

M understood, he had seen all of my hard work. Of course I'm sure he wished it was more like the cake we of which we had both imagined, but it was what it was, and he was satisfied. He kissed me, thanked me, and he told me he had a wonderful birthday.

This morning, I've moved on. Well, after I clean up that mess in the kitchen, I will have moved on. And maybe, just maybe I'll take the leftover cake outside and smash it on the pavement and scream, with a smile on my face (mind you), what the f*#! Bobby Flay! What the f*#!.

A Serious Interjection: Sometimes, despite hard work and planning, disappointment strikes us down. It's ok to be hurt for a moment (or two). But, don't forget to pick yourself up, smash a cake on the ground, and start over with a smile on your face.

--

Previous serious interjections:

• on perfection

a serious interjection: on perfection

I have a confession.


I started to take pictures of my food on Monday for this week's WIAW post. The day started innocently enough with giant salads filled with veggies and leftover chicken bbq.

But, Monday was dark and dreary and so was I. One bowl of granola turned into two...

...a postponed run turned into the entire day spent on the couch, things got out of hand with the peanut butter...

 

...and the wine (this is where the documentation ends).

Lemon olive oil cake was eaten and the only steps I took outside of my house were to photograph food. And it was Monday. MONDAY. Needless to say I didn't use this day's food for my weekly WIAW post.

This morning I took a step back and thought that maybe, just maybe, the blog world would appreciate a bit of harsh reality. I'm a perfectionist. But some days I end up on the couch with my hand covered in bowl of cocoa-dusted popcorn at 2:27 on a Monday afternoon. And, some days I don't have the energy (or desire) to even walk the dog the mailbox. I don't always work out twice a day or eat a well balanced dinner. And, that, my dear blog friends, is ok.

A Serious Interjection: A bit of imperfection is perfectly acceptable. In fact, it's encouraged.