Of all things in the world, perhaps that which gives me most anxiety is cooking. I’m not a bad cook, but I don’t like to cook. I don’t like to plan meals either, and my family has grilled cheese or frozen pot pies for dinner more often than I would like to admit.
I have a hard time accepting these things about myself. In my mind, I seem to see that I should be an enthusiastic cook. Not only should I have a well-stocked pantry, but I should also know what to do with that food. The reality is, however, that when five o’clock comes around, I frequently have anxiety attacks about what we are to be eating that night or, if I have something planned, am trying desperately to think up something simpler. I’d love it if I could just whip up my dinner and move on.
There’s no doubt about it; the kitchen is not where I shine.
“That’s all right, Michelle,” somebody says. “We can’t all like to cook.”
Granted, but the problem with that is that we all have to cook. People need to eat.
In other areas, we can resign ourselves to our limitations and pursue our strengths. We can exchange one thing for another; I may not have a talent for making pottery, but I have a talent for knitting. Therefore, I don’t make pottery and I do knit. But what do you do when you have to perform the task you don’t have talent for? In my case, what if you have to cook?
Is this lack of interest–no, this antagonism to cooking something I just have to work through? I suppose the obvious answer is yes, but how do I reconcile myself to this? How can you dislike something so much and still be okay with doing it? There has to be a way to achieve a level of peace.
If anyone has an answer, I’d like to know.