terça-feira, 29 de maio de 2012

What Zesting and Fermenting Taught me about Former Romantic Partners

I realized this weekend while talking with Colleen and Seema after a delicious potluck dinner that I date overly zesty men. Seems contradictory- what's wrong with more zest? I think it helps to break down exactly what the word "zest" means. Zest is the potent outer skin found on citrus fruit, the stringy scrapings that add up to one high-powered kick of zing. Imagine how much zest is needed to make a delicious lemon yogurt cake or lemon curd, two favorite dishes. Not a whole lot and if you add too much your face sucks in like a pit of quicksand.

The men I've dated have left me with a quicksand pucker, sour. Their over zest for life makes me breathless and overwhelmed. I've realized that these sorts of men who want to Climb Mount Everest! Sky Dive! Learn Chinese! Build Their Own Furniture! are really delightful in small doses. They add some vim and vigor to my already zesty life. However, these men can often be judgmental. They don't always appreciate the beauty of a day spent in quiet observation, or the importance of monitoring your breath. If the activity requires no exclamation point, it can be viewed as less-than. As I've aged, in all the wisdom of my 26 years (ha), I have begun to slow down. Maybe it was in response to the men with whom I rode Kayaks through the Pantanal! and Trained for the Circus! or maybe it's a woman's intuition. Either way I am recognizing my over-zesting tendencies and trying my darndest to get the recipe right this time.

Or maybe choose new recipes. Now, I like to ferment.

A Gift to Myself

Inspired by a new friend, Elizabeth Beers, who breezed into our Ann Arbor home for a few months before landing her dream job in Chicago, I decided to start blogging again. When I signed onto Blogger I saw two old blogs which I remember fondly and which I wrote in to chronicle specific experiences (a Fulbright in Argentina, a trip to France with my adorable grandmother). Then I saw a blog that I don't remember making, named Gift. There were no posts yet. It seemed like a sign.

So here I go, writing again. A gift to myself.