The Shift

As it is for most things, it was for this, too: my thirtieth birthday anxiety greatly exceeded the perils of the day itself. The anticipatory anxiety was for naught. (Though, when does worry actually prevent the ominous from occurring? Alas, never.) Then again, I wasn't nervous so much about the actual day as about the internal and external shifts I believed should take place naturally. Would I make these shifts in the way that I felt I should? 

Would I start wearing sensible shoes? (Oh wait, I already do.) 

Would my face wrinkle overnight? (Not possible, thankfully.) 

Would my house look and feel like a home? (Start by lowering expectations.) 

Would I feel settled? (Will I ever?) 

The day came and went, and it was a sweet one. But nothing really changed. I felt no sudden mature urges to take out the trash, fold the laundry, plan meals, bathe the dog, or send birthday cards on time. I do feel some need to find meaning outside of making my own life comfortable. 

I used to find meaning in my daily work, and at the end of each day I knew that I had worked hard and helped others because I was mentally and emotionally exhausted. To do my job effectively, I forced my introverted self to pretend to be an extrovert. Now, I spend most days mostly alone, reading articles, writing papers, and getting frustrated with statistics, and I know I’m not contributing in the same way I used to.

Perhaps, some day, will, children make my life feel more full of meaning? I have always thought I would have kids, but just to be certain I really did want them—and was not just doing what I thought I should or what people would expect—I read Meghan Daum’s anthology, Selfish, Shallow, and Self-Absorbed: Sixteen Writers on the Decision Not to Have Kids. I poured over the book, captivated by the life stories of these writers and mesmerized by the certainty they felt about their decisions. Yet I was undeterred, and still want kids.

Perhaps there is a place for religion, or a community of people formed around a religion? It won’t be Christianity, because even though there are so many wonderful Christians I know, I’ve been repulsed too many times by those who call themselves followers of Christ. (In the current case of Syrian refugees, I just don’t understand how someone could truly understand what these people have endured and still think that Jesus would want them to reject refugees out of ignorance and fear.)

I mostly enjoy going to synagogue with Jacob, though I feel like an outsider. As if having red hair isn’t enough to set one apart, I don’t know which pages to flip to, I almost always forget to flip the pages the opposite way, and I know zero Hebrew. The community feels welcoming and sincere. Reading books like The Seven Good Years by Etgar Keret helps me understand Judaism just the tiniest bit more. (I highly recommend listening to Terry Gross interview him; it is one of my favorite podcast episodes of this whole year.)

What else feels meaningful? Reading emotionally laden and psychologically rich novels like Elena Ferrante’s My Brilliant Friend. Planning ahead to make a satisfying meal full of nutrients. Hanging out with friends' babies. Going out for a fun meal with family—and watching the family scarf down sardines!

I’m hoping I have decades left, but there’s no way to know, right?

Just Days Away

21 days remain until the big day. This is frightening. How did it happen? 

I know, logically, that thirty is not that old. I also know that birthdays are simply arbitrary astronomical markers. And I know numerous people who are older than thirty. They all seem to have crossed the threshold into "true" adulthood without too much tumult. 

I had in mind that I would, once and for all, quit procrastinating (because if it's just fear, then why not get over it?), plan meals in advance, send birthday cards to arrive on or even before the recipient's birthday, and otherwise not get stressed about silly things. I did purchase a beautiful planner, but otherwise I have made only minor improvements in the other areas. Gotta save some goals for forty, right? 

I don't have all the things figured out that I'd like to have figured out by now. I wish I thought this was exhilarating and liberating--to not know what is to come, to be open to grand new adventures--but I simply do not. I wish I had a stronger vision of what I'd like the next five or ten years to hold. 

• I wish I knew what I would like to do when I finish graduate school this time. For as much effort and time as I put forth to make this happen, I would expect myself to know what to do when it is all over in who knows how many years. Instead, I am left wondering, with some trepidation, about the purpose and applicability of the four statistics classes I will have taken by the time I reach the end of this program. 
• I wish I knew when I wanted to bring another being into the world. (I finished Meghan Daum's anthology, Selfish, Shallow & Self-Absorbed: Sixteen Writers on the Decision Not to Have Kids, a few weeks ago. While I felt more affirmed in my ambivalence toward the prospect of creating offspring, I felt the subject of my ambivalence shift: the question was no longer whether I wanted children, but when I wanted them.) 

Now that we are reasonably settled, in other words, we live in a house that has space for another human being, the decision of when seems to be rather imposing--on my mind, and also on my career. The sheer existence of this decision (the when, not the whether) totally changes how I see myself and my purpose. Do I define myself by what I do, or by my relationships? Probably both, as well as a number of other things, is the reasonable answer. 

If I can't figure out the answers to the monumental life decisions, I can, surprisingly, figure out how to at least seem more adult-ish. For now, I'm thinking that all this uncertainty explains the late summer home improvement frenzy of 2015. 

Since I wrote last, I've ... 

1. Organized Schroeder's paraphernalia.

After & Before, respectively. I constructed two of the shelves featured in the left photo and ditched the toys Schroeder no longer (or never) enjoyed. If it doesn't bring him joy, it doesn't stay!

2. Purchased and partially built (our handyman fixed the wobbling) a towel shelf.

The shelf, prior to my immensely frustrating attempt to turn it into a stable piece of furniture. 

3. Cooked chicken saltimbocca in the crockpot. 

You don't want the recipe. It was not that good. 

4. Created a photo collage over our bed. 

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For the first post in this series, check out My Next Decade. 

My Shining Moment

It's not what you think. 

I have never liked measuring ingredients. Salt, nutmeg, even green food coloring--what's the use in hauling out the measuring spoons? (Yes, I once made green cookies.) When I do, on rare occasion, measure an ingredient before dumping it into the bowl, I feel as if I am conforming, succumbing to blandness and normalcy. What's whimsical about employing measuring cups? Doing so will only mean that my cookies are the exact same as everyone else's. Who wants that? Well, I suppose if the cookies are good ... 

As part of my I'm-Almost-Thirty-Kick, I decided I would plan ahead (WOAH) and make something relatively healthy for dinner that would last us for a few days. Since this was Sunday night and we were just about out of fresh ingredients, I settled on something egg-related. I love the flexibility of eggs. It is possible to combine them with just about anything and produce something relatively edible. So, I decided to pursue the adventure that baking a quiche, and before I knew it, I had found not one, but two, recipes. (Who am I? I never do this!) One for the gluten-free crust, and one for the quiche innards. Not that I actually followed the latter all that closely, but it's progress. 

I pre-baked the crust at 425F for 15 minutes. Of course, ideally, I would create the egg situation while the crust was pre-baking, but OH PLEASE, that is not, and never will be, possible. Most recipes, I feel, are arrogant; they act as if it's no big deal to chop obscure vegetables and braise some expensive rodent meat while the electric mixer churns 3  flours that grocery stores don't sell with organic eggs and a homegrown herb or two. I don't have seven hands and two brains! 

On another recipe note, I feel that most recipe layouts, on a scale of readability and design, rank somewhere between mediocre and abysmal. What I would like to see is, at the top, an overview of the cooking methods and tips for how to work efficiently, followed by a list of directions (and possibly accompanying pictures, a la Blue Apron), with the ingredients AND amounts of said ingredients. Why do cookbooks resist the bullet point? Maybe I am extra sensitive to layout and font because for the past two years I have created assignments and written instructions for students with learning disabilities? Regardless, recipes should be friendlier; they should want you to make them! 

Also, I think that minimal commentary in the recipe itself is best. Otherwise, I will skim the recipe (because either I or the husband is hungry and wants to eat this food!) to avoid the excessive instructions and inevitably not perform some crucial step, like, for example, when I threw green beans into the pan without cutting off the ends. Who knew?

But back to the quiche--there was some extra time for the crust to cool down while I finished making the veggie and egg concoction for the middle. The whole ordeal took approximately 75 minutes, though of course I did not time it. 

I have two disclaimers: The original crust recipe would have made two crusts, so I halved most of the ingredients because I only needed one crust. Who needs two crusts? I took care to write out the new amounts so that I would not unintentionally use double the amount I really needed. However, not so accidentally, I used twice as much salt as recommended. I didn't bother halving it, even though I halved all the other ingredients. I figured it's just salt ... so the crust was salty. I also used some peppers from a Blue Apron meal, and I have no idea what they actually are.

 Nevertheless, I was so pleased! 

---

My Quiche Recipe

(albeit with rough measurement estimates)

First, make the crust by mixing (ideally in an electric mixer) the following ingredients: 

1) Combine and mix the dry ingredients:

• 1 cup of GF flour
• a sprinkling of flax seeds
• another sprinkling of psyllium husk
• 1/4 tsp of salt
• 1 tsp of sugar

2) Add 1/3 cup of coconut oil and mix. 

3) Add one egg and mix. 

4) Add up to 1/3 cup of water slowly. 

5) Roll out the crust on parchment paper, then flop it into the pie pan. 

6) Bake at 425F for 15 minutes. 

Second, sauté the vegetables and add any desired meat. I used Applegate Farms turkey sausage. 

1) Chop two full-size peppers or one full-size pepper and two mini ones.

2) Throw into a pan with some olive oil. 

3) Chop a zucchini and add it to the pan. 

4) Add meat into the pan as desired. 

Third, concoct the egg mixture and then combine everything. 

1) Combine and then whisk together the following: 

• 5 or 6 eggs 
• a dash of milk 
• 7 or 8 mini mozzarella balls 
• salt and pepper 
• an herb, if you want to be fancy 

2) Pour the veggie and meat mixture into the crust. 

3) Pour the egg concoction on top of everything else. 

4) Bake for 30 minutes at 375F. 

Voila! 

My Next Decade

Today is August 17, 2015. My next decade, the fourth, will begin two months from today. This is all too soon for my taste. Imminent, I say. 

Something compels me to accomplish more than usual before the clocks strikes 6:34 pm (the moment of my birth, though how that is determined, I do not think I want to know just yet) on that very day. It is not as though I am going to die two months from now; no, I will only be turning thirty. 

Lately I've been in a home organization and improvement stage. A frenzy, even. So far this summer, in July and August, I have: 

• straightened up the basement and consolidated the piles of junk 
• put away my teaching materials (that were sprawled all over the basement) 
• shelved my teaching books (these were in bags on the floor) 
• ordered frames (from this company called Framebridge that does it all for you, no less!) 
• ordered art (from Lisa Congdon; from Great.ly, whose site navigation is less than optimal, but whose products I would otherwise never find; and from society6, which I stumbled upon while wilfing) 
• purchased towels to replace the towels I used in high school and college (more accurately, allocated those towels to dog bathing duty) 
• HAMMERED a nail into the wall and hung a scarf rack
• hung my scarves on that very rack 
• ordered a jewelry stand so I stop losing earrings 
• cleaned and organized the porch
• planted red impatiens (and remembered what they are called!) 
• straightened up the book situation all around the house
• reorganized and even labeled items in my bathroom 
• started a Pinterest board for children's books 

OK, that last one is really not related to the rest, not at all. I just really like beautifully illustrated and meaningful children's books. Maria Popova, who runs the site Brainpickings, somehow, among all the other books she reads and writes about, finds amazing children's books like this one in which a cactus longs to be understood and hugged, and this one in which a girl tries to recapture her own heart after many years of feeling its loss. 

I am learning how to use a crockpot. Attempt #3 was yesterday. I feel quite foolish for not discovering it sooner. On a different note, I am trying to embrace this mode of living--not giving a damn if validation comes my way or not. I may be trying to put forth a more concerted effort to wash dishes in a timely manner. 

Also, I am trying to (once and for all!) figure out my personality by reading Me, Myself, and Us by Professor Brian R. Little. I haven't watched his talk yet; I can't sit still long enough. However, I'm almost finished with the book, and, so as not to spoil another post, will only reveal the following: I am a moderately self-monitoring introvert with relatively high levels of neuroticism and conscientiousness who possess free traits that conflict with my primary traits. 

Over the next two months, I'll look at how this decade-commencing birthday is prompting me, and others, to consider and reconsider what we expect from ourselves and from society. What do birthdays make us do? What do they force us to consider, other than the obvious? 

Let's be honest, though, I'm not going to become an early riser or learn how to hang curtains anytime soon.