I feel good.
It’s odd to write that. It’s odd to feel it. It seems like I shouldn’t, like it’s disingenuous or fake or an illusion. But it’s none of those.
I feel good. This morning I made biscuits from scratch and poached eggs. Yesterday my husband and I talked – like, on the phone talked – with family for nearly three hours. We went for a walk and saw buds on trees under a bright blue sky. We listened to birds. So many birds. I wrote most of the next chapter of my book, finally breaking through the paralyzing block I’ve had for a week and a half.
I checked in on friends. If I saw something that angered me or frustrated me on Facebook, I kept scrolling. I said a couple things that made people laugh. I baked Katharine Hepburn’s brownies and figured out how I’m going to conduct my oven vs. sous vide Italian Beef cook-off.
And, I decided I am going to start my cooking site. It’s going to be fun and flippant and will hopefully channel everything I enjoy about cooking. There won’t be any ground-breaking recipes or techniques. I’m not a chef. I just like to eat, and cooking is my love language. I probably won’t allow reviews, because this won’t be about rating so much as it is about doing.
I have so much for which to be thankful. Yes, what’s happening is so freaking scary, and if I think about the way it’s been handled – or hasn’t – I get angry and sick to my stomach and I want to scream. But I can’t.
It’s also OK to feel good.
I am going to relish this feeling. Today I’m going to go for another walk, and I’m going to cook some more things, and I’m going to talk to my son and check on more friends and I’m going to finish that chapter and start another one. I’ll plant seeds, literally and figuratively.
I feel good.
And that’s OK.