I Got a New Pep in My Step!

Dear friend,

I’ve started my days with a new pep in my step, as if my 40-year-old-body isn’t quite as heavy as it once was. I can feel it, sense it, almost taste the challenges and adventures that await me. I remember well the times I’ve felt the same surges — when I got married, each time I became pregnant, when I first began my work on our small little farm, the first time I traveled to Italy and attempted to speak in a language not my own. Each of these came with a sense of fear… yet alongside that, an unwillingness to waver.

My parents will forever tell the story of me as a young girl, striving and failing to put together a pink, off-brand, Lego-esque swing-set. I can remember fumbling with the small pieces in my inexperienced hands, palms sweating with stress and defeat. I’m sure I wasn’t following the pamphlet of directions and instead, was choosing to strong-arm my way to victory. It wasn’t going in my favor. My parents calmly encouraged me to step aside. To calm my heart, steady my hands, and refresh my spirit. “Come back to it later…”, they pleaded (most certainly in an attempt to keep the energy in the house one of peace rather than frustration.) But I was in it and I remember distinctly pushing aside their recommendations and tunneling into the work at hand, my glazed-over eyes fixed on the hundreds of tiny pieces still to be compiled. I rallied forward.

me calling my Mom to apologize for being quite determined as a child

The irony of my telling you this story is that I can’t ever remember if I finished it or not — far back as my mind can reach, I cannot remember seeing the finished piece, nor playing with it, nor delighting in it. Rather, I simply remember the feeling of wanting to quite and not. In that moment, I felt sheer determination. Maybe it would’ve been the smarter move to quit. Perhaps I would’ve developed a calmer, less dynamic personality should I have learned to work within emotions that are comforting and safe. But if you’re like me, that doesn’t come naturally either…

It sounds better if we call it passion.

dishes that inspire passion in the kitchen

Two weeks ago, I shared with you all that I would be setting aside a version of our work that has existed in the public realm for over sixteen years. The irony, of course, is that when I began that work, I felt severe fear and trepidation. Imposter syndrome they now call it — when one is perhaps a bit out of their depth, feeling as if they’re naked and exposed before the critics. I felt this back then. I began our homestead dream when there wasn’t a homestead to be had. I’d yet to learn how to raise chickens, milk a cow, prune a fruit tree, grow vegetables, or bake bread. I didn’t yet know how to keep a home, how to cultivate a garden, how to butcher or piece apart an animal, or how to manage a cellar of preserved foods through the winter. Stupidly, or bravely I’m not sure which, I went forward anyway towards what I wanted. I wanted a home, full of fragrant bread loaves and babies running around at my feet. I wanted a home — a place to belong, a place to grow — both literally and figuratively. Imposter? Maybe. But I think learner is more fitting.

After the past decade and a half, I can milk a cow in my sleep and grow more food than we can possibly eat. Our freezers have long been filled with the blessing of our home-raised meats, our pantry stocked with home-canned tomato passata, sun-dried tomatoes, and braids of garlic. While there’s always something to learn on the farm, and our time here IRL is not ending, I did (and do) feel ready for the emotion that other learners may identify with: fear.

The fear of trying something new, of letting others see, of failing. The fear of being a beginner again, of working to find steady footing in unfamiliar territory.

enter in and order something in Italian? sure. how could this go wrong?

I know it doesn’t sound fun — it’s not, per se. My first trip to Italy in which I attempted to speak Italian was shockingly terrifying. I would check myself two, three, four times in Google Translate before I would dare speak, hands shaking and mind gearing up for a few moments before every interaction. I would violently laugh after every phrase I spoke, seeking to soften the ridiculousness of my efforts. I over-corrected myself, used familiar language when I should have used formal, and made an overall ass of myself on many occasions.

BUT.

I began to dream in Italy, to translate in the wee hours of twilight sleep when my mind was open and willing. Over time, the Italians began to reward my effort, and sat in awe of the fact that I DID IT. I was speaking another language. I didn’t know I could do that! I didn’t know I had it in me! Like the elation I got after giving birth — I was wowed by my capability. A new piece of me came alive.

So yes, there is a new pep in my step. I feel like a student again, gathering up knowledge from my large collection of vintage Italian cookbooks, intentional conversations had with foreign friends, new words I acquire, and once again thumbing through the many notebooks I’ve filled with scribbles and notes from my travels there. You know the feeling of a brand-new outfit? One that isn’t yet worn in, stretched out, or stained? That’s how it feels now to sit down at this computer, to share with you these words, photos, and feelings. I feel thrilled!

New number, who dis!

simplicity that inspires new goals in the kitchen

a place that plucks my heartstrings

I don’t want to preach at you, nor am I aiming to convince you to drastically change. This isn’t about Stella getting her groove back or the grass being greener across the pond. I think I just want to encourage you, to encourage myself, that learning is part of a beautiful, abundant, and expansive life. Our lives are allowed to have layers and we are allowed to explore them. I want to learn. I want to expand. I want to discover new pieces of this world that are a blessing to the experiences we will hold together.

I guess I’m curious too — have you ever felt the pull to learn something new? To try for something and risk failing because the thought of not participating is too much to bear? Have you ever shed your outer layer and transformed?

It feels a bit like trying on a swimsuit in front of a crowd, and also, as natural as breathing.

Thank you for letting me grow. I pray you get to as well.

Love,

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