And so it begins. After that dramatic, and rather cathartic goodbye, I officially step into new boots. Big fat unemployed boots. A new week, new month, new time in life.
Can I please just think of it as a fitting prelude of things to come, that despite a night of significant Old Monk laced karaoke debauchery that ended closer to 2.30 am, I woke up at 7.30 this morning to make this?
A meek, understated comeback to the world of bread, after a foccacia debacle a few weeks ago. It could be a defining moment in my journey, this. The lifting off of the veil of having to fit into a set routine, pattern and scheme of things. Of letting go of the rules, and instead getting my hands dirty, and watching as the results turn out differently. Of embarking on new things, even when I’m not sure how they will turn out. Will my bread rise like I want it to? Will it have an airy crumb? A glossy finish? And most importantly, will it hold together and slice beautifully?
This past weekend, I got a lot of the So, what next? and the truth is, I have no plans. I have a nebulous end-point in sight, but no idea how I’m going to get there. I have no schedules and timelines to track my list of things to do. I have no deadlines. I have no pressing demands to attend to, except my own. And all I really have is the immense need to fill my days with experiments. To immerse myself in doing all the things I have waited so many weeks to begin. To read late into the night. To wake up before the sun comes out, because an idea struck and it couldn’t wait till morning before I wrote about it. To read about food, write about food, to learn all about food. To get on the other side, wait tables, wash dishes, sweat it out and learn from observation. To guzzle the newness, no strings attached, To do it all only because I really want to.
To eat healthy again, to be conscious of what I put into my body, and how much. To burn energy the right way and moderate all excesses. To find calm again. To make time for everything, in healthy amounts and stop running around like a headless chicken. To learn to be still again, to enjoy the quiet and to be alone. To discover passion again, and own it.
To wear my freedom like a snug teeshirt, to hold it close and make it mine. To be okay with just being. Without a plan to fill the void. To enjoy my own company. To not get too frazzled with the occasional moments of self-doubt, panic about whether this was irresponsible, and of course the immense sloth that is bound to attack at some point.
To step into the sunset of the last two years. To shed it with grace, like looking back on the gorgeous orange dusky sky, while in the distance, the fairy lights come on. The music begins to peter in. And an evening party gathers some life.
Because it is the end of day, and yet, it is the beginning of another round of fun. That party in the distance? That’s the one I’m headed to.