Things I Didn't Know I Liked

Things I Didn’t Know I Liked

I have apparently reached an age where I’m discovering things about myself that I probably should have figured out years ago. You would think somewhere along the way we would receive an owner’s manual.

Aleta O’Brien: Operating Instructions.

Likes this.

Hates that.

Do not expose to mornings.

Will become irrationally attached to certain pens.

Approach with caution when hungry.

Apparently not.

Instead, I’m still finding things I didn’t know I liked. And lately there have been quite a few.

Apparently, I Like Vegetables

This one may be the most disturbing. I used to think vegetables came in categories.

Green beans.

Broccoli.

Carrots.

Salad.

That was pretty much the Vegetable Department. Now I walk through the produce section looking at bok choy, fennel, leeks, squash and greens I’ve never heard of.

I went to Whole Foods recently and caught myself smiling at the produce.

Who is this woman? I bought red cabbage. Komatsuna greens. Butternut squash. A red sweet potato. Zucchini. Yellow squash.

I came home looking like I’d been filming Under the Tuscan Sun, But With Zucchini.

- I’ve learned that fennel tastes a little like licorice when it’s raw but becomes completely different when it’s cooked.

- I’ve learned that bok choy has crunchy stems and tender leaves.

- I’ve learned that leeks are delicious but should probably come with legal representation.

And I’ve learned that I actually enjoy discovering all of this.

Not because vegetables are Healthy Foods I Am Supposed to Eat.

Because some of them are really damn good.

I have now discovered that I like air-fried tofu. I did not see this coming. At this point I am becoming suspicious that I don’t know myself at all.

For years I said: I don’t cook.

It wasn’t even an apology. It was simply a fact.

Some people knit.

Some people run marathons.

Some people understand insurance policies.

I didn’t cook.

Except apparently I do now. I have opinions about skillets. I have opinions about whether vegetables should be cut into tiny pieces or left chunky.

For the record, chunky. I like to chew.

I know not to crowd a pan. I have voluntarily purchased fish.

I’ve stood in my kitchen looking at something I made and thought:

Holy shit. I made that.

And there is something deeply satisfying about that.

Cooking has become less about following rules and more about experimenting.

What if I add this?

What if I leave that out?

What if I put chicken, black beans and a ridiculous quantity of vegetables in a skillet and see what happens?

Sometimes it works.

Sometimes it needs Parmesan.

There are very few problems in life that cannot at least be reconsidered after Parmesan.

Apparently, I Like Wandering

I don’t necessarily mean traveling. I mean wandering. Give me a produce department I’ve never explored. An art store. A bookstore.

Someplace where I can walk around and look at things without having to know exactly what I’m looking for.

I like discovering things accidentally. Maybe I’ve always liked that. Maybe I just didn’t give myself enough room to do it.

Apparently, I Like Learning Things

This surprised me too. I don’t mean school. I don’t mean tests. And I definitely don’t mean math homework.

I mean learning because I’m curious.

How do I cook this?

What kind of paint would make that effect?

How do I add something to my website without accidentally destroying the Internet?

Turns out I can.

Twice.

I’ve been learning about cooking.

Painting.

Writing.

Blogging.

Food.

My own body.

And somewhere along the way I’ve started realizing that maybe I was never afraid of learning.

Maybe I was afraid of getting things wrong.

Those aren’t the same thing.

Apparently, I Like Writing Fiction

This one snuck up on me. I’ve always liked stories. But creating people who don’t exist? Giving them conversations? Dropping them into dreams and kitchens and strange little moments and seeing what they do?

I like that. I wrote a short story. And somewhere between the first sentence and the last, I realized:

Oh.

I write fiction.

Sometimes I think we wait for an identity before we allow ourselves to do the thing.

Maybe it happens the other way around. You do the thing. And eventually your idea of yourself catches up.

How Many Things Do We Decide Once?

That’s what I’ve been wondering. How many times do we decide something about ourselves when we’re 25 or 35 or 45 and then carry that decision around forever?

I don’t like vegetables.

I’m not creative.

I don’t cook.

I don’t wear dresses.

I’m not adventurous.

I’m not good at that.

Maybe some of those things are true.

There are certainly things I’ve tried and confidently placed in the NOPE category.

That’s useful information too. I don’t think we need to spend our lives repeatedly trying things we genuinely hate in the name of Personal Growth

But every once in a while, maybe it’s worth pulling an old belief off the shelf and checking the expiration date.

Maybe I’m Still Becoming

I think that’s the part I like most.

For some reason I thought that by this point in life the construction phase would be over.

Here is Aleta.

Finished product.

Please do not attempt further assembly.

Apparently that’s nonsense.

I think we keep meeting ourselves.

Sometimes over something enormous.

Sometimes over a paintbrush.

Sometimes over a story.

Sometimes over a recipe.

Sometimes standing in the produce department holding a vegetable we couldn’t have identified six months ago.

And suddenly we think:

Wait. I like this.

There’s something hopeful about that.

Not because I need to become a completely different person. I don’t. But because there might still be things out there that I’m going to love.

Things I haven’t tasted.

Places I haven’t wandered.

Stories I haven’t written.

Things I haven’t learned.

Versions of myself I haven’t met yet.

And apparently I’m a woman who gets excited about produce now.

So really,

anything could happen.