I guess 40 is about being. Not like adolescence–which is a frantic sort of being, where you cram all the life you can into everything. A stepped-back sort of being, where there isn’t less going wrong or less to panic about, you’re just better at figuring out what’s worth reacting to and what isn’t.
Will said something uncharacteristically philosophical about getting old being okay because you unskew your perspective on many things while we were in Tahoe. I’d quote it but I can’t find where I wrote it down. Although I don’t seem quite capable of paraphrasing, that was more or less the gist.
I was thinking about that, again, as over the weekend I had another mundane realization about myself and another appreciation for relaxing into being.
Basically, I cooked.
I have always cooked. I like to cook–I really like to bake, but I enjoying cooking. That did not come as a revelation to me this weekend; I’ve pretty much always known that I like to cook. What I did not know was that I like people to enjoy what I’ve cooked.
What an unlikely revelation that was! I am–at times excessively–inner-directed, and suddenly realizing that cooking was a social pleasure for me was both startling and obvious. Here I am, finally closing in on understanding myself. It only took 30 years of excessive inner-directed thought to suss out, but there it is. I enjoy cooking cause good food–like cupcakes–makes people happy.
I suppose it helps to serve food with a cocktail, sugar-rim on the glass and all.