For the second time in three weeks, I managed to biff making orzo pasta. I’m beginning to think my culinary abilities would not even be recognized as “cooking” in at least 16 states (and probably more like 19). It’s unclear as to when I lost my ability to boil water, add noodles, and drain appropriately, but clearly, something is afoot.
On the plus side, I’ve been frequenting my local taqueria even more (who knew that was possible?), and they make a darn good veggie taco. And I’ve been hanging out there while I eat, using it as an excuse to read more (I’m in the beginning of Garden Spells and I admit to it being far better than I imagined it would be).
There’s always a silver lining.
Anyway, while I was poorly attending to my pasta pot, I was thinking loudly in written words, imagining how this post would go. The words always sound really good when I think them, but inevitably they are not that great and need to be rearranged entirely once I get them down on the screen (or in my more old-fashioned moments, on paper). I wanted to write about preparing to speak at Smash Academy, and I wanted to write about the act of public speaking, and I wanted to edit/abridge what I said and share that too.
But now I’m transfixed by this whole positive change thing (or, as I’m guessing Nick would call it, personal growth) and apparently I need to write about that process instead.
I feel the me of yesteryear would have been more likely to feel livid, hateful rage against myself for the whole mealtime malarky. And sure, outwardly I’d have presented a strong, united front of cheerful indifference and hopefully charming “Whoopsie-daisy!” shoulder shrugging. But internally, I’d be throwing down self-hatred riffs like the best improving jazz musician nails a solo.
Today? The outside matches the inside. I feel absolutely peaceful – and frankly, a little grateful. Sure, it’s ridiculous that I’m Italian and can’t cook pasta. But in no way does that make me incompetent at living.