I haven't written another post on Provence. I sat down to write it,
not because I wanted to write it, because I told you I would. But my
heart was not in my fingers, they hovered above the keyboard; seagulls
over dry land. And then I remembered something I often forget:
I can change my mind.
I can change my mind.
It's
strange how we're wired to not see that option. How years of
conditioning teaches us to plough on, keep our word, see things through,
finish every bit of food on the plate. Of course, there's a fear that
creates, and arches over, that absolutism. The fear that if we gave our
children the freedom to change their mind, we would turn them into
fickle creatures, quitters and drifters. We would teach them how to give
up too easily. They could grow up wasting their time looking for utopia
and other silliness, instead of setting up the tent called Real Life,
which of course stands on a few 'essential' pegs - a career, a spouse, a
child (ideally two), a house of one's own, and money in the bank.
A
departure from those essentials puts parents in a difficult position.
Of having to present the anomalous lives of their adult children to the
rest of the world. They fumble if one or more of the essential pegs are
missing: if a daughter is successful but single, if a
forty-five-year-old son lives in a rented apartment, if their children
decide to travel the world on odd jobs instead of a steady one, if their healthy, fertile,
married daughter decides not to have children. Or, god help them, if
their child decides that they're attracted to people of their own sex.
The poor parents' post-retirement plan is sorted - to spend their days
explaining these inconsistencies to friends and neighbours the best they
can. And that, is the fear. That these drifters could be products of a
freedom, which gave them the license to change their mind.
Why
then do I always tell Chotto-ma that her mind is hers to change?
Because, you see, the other side of the coin is far scarier to me. That
she might spend endless days doing something her heart is not into. That
she might not listen to the voice that comes from her belly. That she
would be too proud or worried or scared to say 'I was wrong, and I'd
like to change my mind.' I've seen people waste years studying for the
wrong degree and then working in the wrong job, because changing their
mind would seem like giving up. I've seen people who knew a year
into their marriage that they'd made the wrong choice, but stayed on for
another decade, because once you've told your family you've found the
love of your life, you don't change your mind.
Now, what if you drifted for a while? A physical drifting can actually tether
you in wonderful ways. And what if you didn't take the pegs and put
up that tent? What if you walked off the road and explored and got a
little lost and found your way again? Feeling settled inside has nothing
to do with being settled on the outside, of that I'm sure. Finding that
still point in yourself - where you know you're in the right place,
with the right people, in the right skin - has little to do with being
still on the outside, having a permanent residence and a planned life.
The older I get, the less time I spend doing things that don't feel
right. Time feels precious - something to be reserved for people who
matter, doing things that add to my day. I change my mind as soon as my belly asks me to, for rarely has
that voice in my gut led me astray.
When
I start writing a blog post, I never know where I'm going to go. The
only way I seem to be able to write is by drifting. Drifting is the way I've found most good things; or the way they've found me.
This post was supposed to
be a travel guide around Provence, and I couldn't have strayed farther
away on the map. I also had no plans of sharing a recipe today, but I changed my mind.
Peach, Mozzarella & Black-Eyed Bean Salad
I wrote the post over this salad lunch. And the salad was very good, so I made
another plate just to take pictures and share it with you. It tastes like summer.
Ingredients
2 peaches, sweet and ripe
100 gms fresh mozzarella
1/2 cup black-eyed beans, soaked overnight
Fresh basil
1tsp whole black peppercorns, coarsely crushed
Handful of cashew nuts, roasted in a pan till lightly browned (or almonds if you prefer)
Extra virgin olive oil
Sea salt
First, boil the beans with salt till soft. Keep aside to cool. (I usually have some boiled and stored in the fridge.)
The rest is all about assembly:
Slice
the peach and lay it out on a plate. Tear chunks of mozzarella and dot
them around. Next goes the basil. Sprinkle this layer with salt
(optional) and the coarse pepper. Scatter in the beans. Top everything
with the cashew nuts. Drizzle with olive oil. And voila!
To everyone who's asked, the issue is for sale from August 1, and you can pre-order your copy here (they ship worldwide, and you'll be supporting a wonderful, not-for-profit effort to produce good literature): http://structomagazine.co.uk/store/
To everyone who's asked, the issue is for sale from August 1, and you can pre-order your copy here (they ship worldwide, and you'll be supporting a wonderful, not-for-profit effort to produce good literature): http://structomagazine.co.uk/store/
