On drop-kicking my schedule

The other night I had every intention of working hard.

I was feeling behind on work, so I wrestled my life into submission the only way I know how: planning every hour into my calendar. I feel so in control when I put time boundaries around my responsibilities.

But at some point during the night, I stumbled upon a recipe for mini quiches with quinoa, tomatoes, and ham. My brain immediately went to the exorbitant amounts of leftover quinoa in my fridge, and ten minutes later, I walked out of the grocery store with a bag of tomatoes, bell peppers, and avocado.

“It’s fine, I’ll cook it in the morning,” I told myself (...as I consumed my chocolate sea salt RX bar that only 3 days earlier I’d told myself was NOT in the food budget anymore, but here we are sitting at a red light with another empty black wrapper and chocolate chips stuck to my teeth.)

When I got home, I lit and candle, put the kettle on to boil, and dropped a peppermint tea bag into my mug—setting the stage for the productive evening I’d scheduled for myself. My laptop was on the kitchen table, Bread & Wine by Josh Garrels was playing. I opened Asana and gmail, overwhelmed by the flood of tasks that populated each dashboard. Then the kettle started to sing.

I’m not sure if Josh Garrels was extra croony or if my favorite gray sweater was extra comfy or if I just have an uncanny ability to rationalize myself into anything, but after I poured boiling water over the tea bag, I found myself pulling out a cutting board and chopping bell peppers.

Slicing the pepper into red ribbons and feeling its crisp, cold texture was addicting and therapeutic. Slicing a pepper turned into slicing an onion. I sliced it fast, racing the fumes so that my eyes didn't burn. Next thing I know, I’ve got the cast iron skillet on the stove and I’m throwing in diced peppers, onions, tomatoes, eggs, and spoonfuls of the quinoa I didn’t know what to do with. Somewhere in there I must have preheated the oven because I heard it ding, letting me know that it had reached 350 degrees. I stuck the cast iron skillet in the oven and swept my dishes into the sink, hiding the evidence of my spontaneous cooking escapade from myself.

I glanced at the clock. 9:20pm. Off schedule. But I honestly didn’t care. I finally sat down to emails and Asana tasks and Voxer messages and google docs. It was easier to focus now. Maybe it was the burst of creativity or the mental checkmark that breakfast was already cooked. Maybe it was that both of these were accomplished in 20 minutes.

I’m thankful that cooking has become expressive and satisfying. Like playing the piano used to be—that abstract nothing-and-everything of creativity and the tactile, sensory engagement of your fingertips.

I paused to notice the explosion of onion skin, tomato juice, and bell pepper seeds that now cluttered a countertop. I licked a diced tomato off my pinky, scooped up the papery onion layers, and in the short walk from the counter to the trashcan, I thought to myself, “I’m going to write about this.”

This moment of spontaneity is making me open my eyes and pay attention to the creative part of me that won’t be silenced. It sneaks in right when I need it. Right when I’m buckling down into the discipline of hard-work, creativity flies in out of nowhere, almost trapping me in its spell and saying, “Take a break from hustling. Your soul needs this.”

I need structure and productivity, but I also need space to do none of that. I need to remember the satisfying and relaxing exhale that comes from pulling a cast iron skillet out of the cabinet and filling it with colors and flavors and textures. I need my creative-self to laugh when I have a stick up my ass. I need fun. I need food and flavors and colors. I need oven mitts on my hands at 9:30pm. I need the thrill of putting something in the oven and having no clue what will come out.

Spontaneous creativity helps me work better. It makes the work more enjoyable because it connects me with myself. My soul feels cared for and seen and valued. And now that I’ve just spent some quality time with myself by being creative, I can buckle down and do the work.

And when the timer goes off and I open the oven to the beautiful reds and yellows of tomatoes and peppers; when I slice a knife through the thick, bumpy texture of quinoa & egg; I’ll eat two pieces of quiche, and I’ll archive the completed emails. I’ll shut down my laptop and entrust tomorrow with what’s undone.