A Walk in the Forest

Earlier this week, I made myself a set of goals.  Take a walk in the forest, begin fermentation, set about finding some pottery or suitable vessels, as well as fermentation lids.  (I wound up with art classes instead).  The idea was to focus on goals that would push me forward on my mental health journey.  Overcome depression and get back into the kitchen, confidence regained along with a love of eating and food.

 

I wasn’t prepared for the fear.  I had to change my location (a forest with simple trails and markings, populated by toddlers and dogs), establish a buddy system and ask for directions twice.  Moreover, the great kitchen projects that I had set for myself remained largely unattempted.  Instead, I reverted to what I know and adapted what I could to make it into something less daunting.  Fermented beetroot was merely boiled whole, sliced and dressed.  Fermented carrots and cucumbers will most likely be pickled.  The albatross around my neck remains the fermented tomato salsa, which may well ferment in the flesh before I muster the courage to put it into jars — before the gift of organic coriander wilts and yellows in the fridge and mold develops on perhaps too many more chillies than I actually need.

 

I’m learning that my fear and lack of confidence extends beyond the kitchen into life itself.  And yet, as I have learned to make accommodations for myself in the forest and in the kitchen, so should I learn to make accommodations for myself along the path to recovery.  By which I mean that I should be less demanding of myself — leaping over every obstacle without fear or trepidation, filling my days with meaningful effort and generally bounding and frolicking amongst the wild flowers without a care in the world.  That is not what recovery looks like.  It may be the same slow, painstaking process as my fermentation, if I ever get to it.  And in the meantime, I am bound to discover new things along the way, simply by taking action, some action, any action.

 

I’m now signed up for art classes, most likely drawing, or learning how to see, at least once a week, plus time spent at home practicing.  I am also committing to a Friday morning walk in the forest, weather permitting, an hour on the trails and then some writing and reflection.

 

I will, for now, continue to situate myself here in my kitchen, inasmuch as eating and food continue to present me with physical and emotional challenges, and inasmuch as I continue to believe that at least part of the solution lies here — whether through learning a new approach to my relationship with food, or regaining confidence in the kitchen — successfully managing physical symptoms and ailments, or perhaps even my depression.