may look like we’ve sped up, but we’re still wobbling on the inside.
Here’s what that looked like one June Friday, when an unexpected problem caught me off guard. Fridays are generally calm spots in my weekly rhythm, but the day had been packed with mentally demanding appointments. In fact, the whole week had been bonkers. I was worn out but looking forward to our evening plans. We were having old acquaintances over for dinner for the first time, and I wanted our new guests to feel at ease and had planned accordingly. The house was clean enough, and I had the ingredients for a casual meal ready to go. Our guests call themselves vegetarian-ish, so I’d decided to put my neighbors’ garden surplus to good use and make spaghetti squash tacos. I was skeptical when I first encountered the Smitten Kitchen recipe, but many years and many dinners later, the vegetarian tacos are a favorite of my meat-eating family and a meal I regularly make for guests.
My final meeting of the afternoon had run terribly long, and it was past time to get dinner started. I prefer to roast the spaghetti squash for the tacos, but it was too hot to turn on the oven, so I turned to the microwave. As I prepped the squash for cooking, piercing it with a paring knife so the steam could vent while it cooked, I noticed how pretty it was—a pale yellow green, with gentle striping, much prettier than the plain yellow ones at the grocery store.
In the microwave, the squash hissed and steamed like usual. But after it cooked for a half hour, at which point it should have been almost done, I was surprised to see it sitting in a large puddle of water. That’s weird, I thought. When I took it out and gently cut into it, I realized why my squash looked so pretty—I’d spent the last half hour microwaving a melon.
“I am such an idiot,” I told my husband. “I can’t believe I did something so stupid. Today, of all days!”
“Hey,” Will said, “it’s fine. Getting all cranky is just going to make you feel bad. You don’t need to dwell on this. It’s not that big a deal—and it is funny, right?”
He was right. I mean, who microwaves a melon? And while I was tempted to berate myself further and wallow in my misfortune, that wouldn’t have done anyone any good, especially me. Sometimes we can benefit from evaluating exactly what went wrong so we can know better next time, but there was no need for that—this was never going to happen again. I didn’t need to dwell on my mistake; I needed to let go of my irritation and move on.
I turned my attention to what needed to be done. For obvious reasons, I couldn’t afford the time to research my options. We needed dinner, and it didn’t much matter what kind. Will was heading out the door to pick up all the kids from all the places, so dinner was on me. I opened the pantry, searching for another vegetarian option, but that took more creativity than I was feeling at the moment. I thought about ordering pizza, but we’d promised tacos, and the situation didn’t seem as bad as all that. The least mentally taxing option was to stay with the tacos, even though it meant a grocery run. I grabbed the keys and headed for the door, clearly exasperated.
Laughter defuses any situation, and so on my way to the grocery store, I called a friend and told her what I’d done. She laughed hysterically, which helped me regain my sense of perspective. Twenty minutes later (much faster than I’d imagined), I returned with a banana-yellow spaghetti squash that only vaguely resembled the melon I’d microwaved. (I also grabbed extra cheese and crackers, because dinner wasn’t going to be ready soon.)
When our friends arrived, we welcomed them in, poured the wine, and settled everyone into the kitchen. We put out chips and guacamole and a more-substantial-than-originally-planned cheese board. When the tacos were ready, we served them up. It was a lovely evening. And after dinner was served, we all had a good laugh when I told our friends about my kitchen mishap.
When we know we need to move forward, we must do it with our whole selves—with our actions and our minds. As long as we’re contemplating the issue, we’re dwelling on the negative. Nobody’s got time—or headspace—for that.
Don’t wallow, don’t wobble, move