Imagine this.
You wake up one morning and you go to your kitchen. Your kitchen. This kitchen, it’s been yours for a very long time, as long as you can remember, in fact. You love this kitchen because it has been with you for just that very long. Always there for you. Could there be anything better than this kitchen? You doubt not. You’ve been looking around and you really don’t think there could be anything better than this kitchen.
But the truth is, when you use the oven, it quits on you for no apparent reason. This is particularly annoying when you cut up an acorn squash and slide it onto the middle rack. What does it taste like with just some salt and pepper and oil, you wonder. You are excited to try something new.
But this oven, it doesn’t let you set a timer for anything longer than 12 minutes. This does little to stop you. You work around little failures. You’re a problem-solver, one who respects what is present no matter the idiosyncrasies. You set your phone timer, but sometimes you don’t do it quite right (it’s a new phone) so you somehow, despite all your best intentions, end up with a baking tray of smoking, burnt, dry, utterly inedible chunks. Forced to wave your kitchen towel in front of the fire alarm because you don’t want the authorities showing up at your doorstep while looking so foolish, you wonder what you did wrong. Not the oven, but you.
In defeat, you take the tray out into the sun to release the carbon dioxide into the atmosphere. Before you go back inside, you pass your fingers over something that was meant to nourish you, but that now seems to be another sign of your incapacity.
And the microwave. The light flickers everytime you open the door. There’s something wrong with the microwave too. You can’t quite get the timing right even though you’ve used it every day since you’ve been alive. The food that comes out is either far too hot or still cold. The coffee, it’s never the perfect temperature. The popcorn always burns. But again, you’re someone who is ready to take what is presented. This is what it is. Work with it. Do the best you can with what is available.
And let’s not even mention the poor toaster. When you try to toast your bread, a quick afternoon snack to get you to the next meal, the little machine pops off after five seconds. That’s not right, you think as you screw your face in frustration. You’d been treating that toaster quite well, very well, very respectfully, in fact. How did the little spring coil lose its place? Ah well.
Though you know you should replace it (after all, how expensive is a cheap toaster these days?), you worry over the funds in your bank account and since it would be just as easy to toast the bread on a pan over a flame, you push that to the side. You are resourceful. This is a hard-earned badge, one that you will never let go.
At least the dishwasher and the fridge work well, you think.
But then, imagine this.
Someone comes into your kitchen, someone with far more experience, who has seen even more kitchens than you have. In fact, they’ve seen kitchens across a far wider range of locations and styles than you ever have had the chance to, even you, you with quite a few experiences under your belt.
“Excuse me,” he says. “Why are you trying to cook in a place like this? Haven’t you noticed that none of your appliances, excepting that wonderful dishwasher and fridge, absolutely none of them work well for you? Didn’t you know there was a different way to cook?”
There’s a defensiveness. Of course there is. This is your kitchen. You’ve cooked up a lot of wonderful things in this kitchen, and in fact, the ruggedness of your space makes you proud. Look what I can do even with limited resources. Look at it. Look at it.
And then shame. For don’t you already have so much more than so many people? Shouldn’t you just be satisfied? Isn’t that the sin? To look for more?
But then, there is a curiosity. Could it be better? Could it really?
So, when he asks you to come see a real kitchen, you go. You want to see what’s going on in someone else’s world. Perhaps in another universe.
It’s a shock when you walk in. The whole kitchen sparkles. Luminous steel counters, fresh sunlight, a deep sink with space for all sorts of pots and pans, appliances that gleam brand names that scream dependability. Oh, you realize, this is a place that is respected and honored by those who work in it. This is a place that is fully equipped. This is a place that can hum.
And god, do you want to hum.
“Isn’t this what you deserve?” he asks you as he watches you step into this piece of heaven. You think back to the diamond tiles of your little kitchen which now seems like such a mess in comparison. Dark and dingy. Barely functional. Not really a kitchen when you look at it square in the eye. Is that what you deserve?
No.
He smiles. “I thought so,” he said. “I wonder what you’ll get up to when you get home.”
You smile back. “You know, I’m starting to wonder that too. I’m really starting to wonder that too.”
The drive back, you’re already making plans and rough estimates. You notice that you keep getting hooked on the expense. What is it going to cost? What is it going to cost? And even though you’re wary of spending anything, anything, anything, you know he’s right. There’s no way you can ever go back now. Not when you’ve seen the alternative.
So here’s what you do when you get back: you roll up your sleeves, tie your hair back, and you begin to plot. Which appliance do I replace first? In what order? And as you lay it all out, you see how quickly you are going to execute. A shiver of excitement, anxiety, fear. What if it doesn’t work out? What if this isn’t the right gamble?
Which is when he shows up with dinner and a whole week’s worth of frozen homemade casseroles. “I figured you might need something to get you across,” he says with a twinkle. “I am very excited to see what you do with your space.”
You smile. He’s right. You need the help. You’ve been working double, triple, quadruple time with faulty appliances for decades. You need to enjoy something that someone else has made, at least every once in a while. And as you eat the delicious meal this man has made for you, you realize that in fact, it is vital to take the time to relish because you need joy to be your foundation for your next chapter. You need to center that wholesome goodness to create something that actually fulfills you, nourishes you, protects you. He brought food, but really it was wisdom.
So, now fed, you return to the task at hand, and much as you suspected, it all falls into line, and in the span of two weeks, you are standing in a kitchen that has the same bones, but a completely new facade. Did you just work a miracle?
Of course, you did.
You tie your red apron, pull your hair into a topknot and look out the window. The possibilities. All the possibilities. What beautiful and mouthwatering dishes you shall make with a fully operational kitchen.
But of course, you’re not satisfied with this. The real question is: how do we get everyone a kitchen like this?
He smiles. “Good question, kid,” he says. “Good question.”
Music Corner: This is what I was listening to while dreaming and writing xoxo
Originally posted on LinkedIn.
