I don’t think I’ve ever read The Orangette before, but I came to it via a link (101 Cookbooks, of course), and I thought this post was interesting. I don’t really buy the “I thought I was the only writer who dreaded writing!” thing because every writer ever has bitched about writing, and blamed it for driving them to drink, but I forgive her because I like this.
I remember when Heidi was working on Super Natural Every Day, and she would put up a post every now and then to chronicle her process, and how it made me think about my own process and feel more brave about it. Most of us spend our days in some process or other, and I want to share what that process has looked like for me lately.
Not super deep, but it’s true that no matter whether your job is stressful or dull or physically or mentally taxing, you are in a process, or many processes, and even if they don’t feel likeprogress, exactly, you are working through stuff, and that is satisfying. I’m thinking about the boring, mindless temp jobs I had where I thought about what I wanted to do that night, or that week, or that year. I made plans, and dreamed dreams, which is not something I do much. I live way more in the here and now than I probably should. Goals? Nope.
Anyway, I think one of the most interesting things about people is how they work. How they trick themselves into doing the things they don’t want to do, or throw themselves into the things they do. I am, colleagues tell me, very efficient. But to myself I am an epic procrastinator, who just happens to put off difficult tasks by getting lots of smaller ones done. Same in my personal life. I will not think about what my career will look like 10 years from now, or whether I want to get married or have children, but I will get all my drycleaning done, brew some beer, clean the house, go for a run, email friends I miss, and cook an elaborate dinner on a Sunday. That might seem productive, but I know better. It’s a process, hopefully leading up to something big, and good. Or small and good. I’m not picky.