This piece of writing comes out of surprised elation as sweaty beads of success (let's call it that) coursing through me. It is perhaps a way to immortalise the three beans on that magical morning, or maybe process reality by putting pen to paper. The more I think about it, the mystery increases. Which bean should I pick?
It had been (oh there's a pun!) two days since I started my determined steps towards a healthy body, with exercises that were aimed to tone and strengthen those muscles which had lost their will to stand up for themselves. Too much of a good thing, and the strains of all the great food in my life, were starting to show around my waistline. The final push came when my husband decided to join the gym, leaving me alone on a bright Tuesday morning, with renewed vigour and fitness goals. Though I have been through the first steps of the this process many times in the past, my gut told me (yes, the same expanding one), that this time around, I would get it right.
I pulled myself out of bed, with the help of motivational quotes on Pinterest and the little voice in my head that told me its now or never. I moved around the house a bit like a zombie, trying to get my sleepy self to become aware of reality. The first task was to make coffee and a bowl of oats, but my head was still fuzzy. I ended up opening windows uselessly and moving into different rooms aimlessly. After some minutes of doing this, I got down to cooking the oat. I was pleased with how I remembered to get the berries from the fridge to add in, after my memory lapse yesterday. The strawberries looked a little too soft by now, but I put them in anyway, while the oat simmered away.
I multi tasked extremely well to get my coffee ready by then, and my brain was slowly and finally waking up and taking charge of what my body was doing. My first bean of the day, now freshly ground and filling the kitchen with an aroma I live for. The French press filled up perfectly, as the merciful black liquid formed mysteriously from the beans now coarse and damp. Oh how that left me with a smile on the same face the leftover grind would be used to exfoliate!
And then disaster struck - if I was being dramatic. It came in the form of a weird texture that the oat was turning itself into, while I stirred with increased panic. It only got worse with time, despite my earlier flourishes of success with adding in pumpkin seeds and nuts too. After a while of hoping that things would change for the better, I realised that it wouldn't. My suspicions were confirmed that the milk had curdled (thanks to the mushy strawberries?) and at this point, my brain jolted right awake. So much for a lazy morning before I hit the floor for my workout. What happened to the process of making the perfect oatmeal porridge to accompany my amazing coffee, that was proceeding so well up to this point? My mood dipped, as did the curdled milk levels in the pan. My knight in shining armour announced that we would have peanut butter and bread instead, and left me to lick my wounds while he got this together with perfect ease.
I blocked out this incident, but felt a sense of doom that the rest of the morning would be a chaotic mess. I could visualise the failed future hours at attempts to exercise. How quickly an oat could get me going down the same drain it ended up in.
And then something shifted in the air, as if a wand was waved with a sprinkling of magic dust - The moment in time, from whereon everything promised to be simply perfect. I seemed to hear a voice from within that after such a disastrous kitchen attempt, nothing beyond this point would go wrong. Inspired by just that, I got right off the sofa, declaring with passion that I must conquer the day and make the hours count. Why not the minutes and seconds too, let's get right to it. A dose of head rush later, I was in the kitchen with a whole bunch of string beans - a quantity that was probably uncalled for, for two. I resolved to perform at my efficient and smartest self to make the most of time. Washing and drying, chopping and soaking. All of this done in quick succession since these beans had to be ready for lunch after the intense workout awaiting me. While the cut beans soaked, in went the onions and garlic, tomatoes in their due time and salt to soften it all. Once the beans were in, the heat was risked on high while I counted the seconds to throw in the spice powders. I knew exactly what needed to be added, leaving my time management skills at best. Once the heat was turned down to more optimal levels and the lid on, it was time for time to take its time; I debated if yet another risky adventure should be planned. Should I get started with my workout (other than the one which involved an athletic race against a ticking clock), and let the bean do its thing?
This decision would require careful consideration, given that despite my expertise with the bean - the second one of the day - I was unsure of the time it would need to cook well. 'Perfect' being the only standard a life lived to its fullest could possibly hold. But, risks sometimes lead to green pastures. Would it lead to a great plate of green beans too?
I decided to go for it. After all, the flame was low (though the stakes were high). I had passed the mark for the bad luck of the oat to dissipate into great showers of good-ness onward, and this was to be converted into a dish that would form my second bean of the day; which meant good luck would accompany it. Last peak into the pan, texture still too hard for extra time to do damage. A quick stir and flourish, and I was on my way into the adjoining room which would double up as my gym for the day. I knew that the first 10 minutes would give me the break to check the progress, both of my stretched out muscles and the softened beans in the pan. The timer got going for my count down warm up, and I was quite in the moment with joints that were for want of use, and muscle-sets that were hibernating for months. As my body fired up, I sent out some heart-warming blessings in to the kitchen, thick walls bearing no obstacle, letting the bean know that she was in my thoughts.
Four to go, minutes and will power stretched, as I pondered how difficult it was to get back to a fitness regime. In my last two minutes, I grunted and rolled around, completely in awe of my inability to move. And at the zero minute mark, a welcome break to run to the pan! What I assumed would be perfectly cooked beans, turned out to be just about there. They had a bit more to go, so we must let time work her magic.
Back to the gym with minutes that felt like hours, and more movement than desired. And in a while I called it quits to hide away in my retreat of a kitchen, its charm glowing all the more, given what I was escaping from. I saw that all was well, time to transfer into a container while opening up some hours now to reminisce over the shockingly inadept minutes of muscle movements. As I cleaned up quickly, some respite looming ahead, I noticed one little bean left on the counter. To add to my failure at the gym, I failed to notice this one which rolled away happily to stay green and free. Perfectly accepting of its true form, with no desire to change into soft cooked mush which the world desires to see. Now, if that is not a sign of a lesson incoming, what could it be?
I held this bean in my hand, gently, though nothing could really affect its tough exterior. I got back to the sofa from which my day had started. And I began questioning our ideas of perfection. Who is to say, I asked this bean, when and how we show up? Does the world get to pick their bucket of acceptable norms, and do we just trip over the ledge and fall into it with no free will? Are we so immune to our own intelligence and innate wisdom we hold inside, that we blindly follow the bandwagon, falsely believing that we are happy to jump in?
Oh my, what a deep dive that was! What does this mean for me, I wondered. Do I abandon renewed vigour of daily workouts and accept my status of health for what it is? Do I question every expected norm and rebel against the idea of perfect? At that very moment, as though repelled by the thought, the happy bean rolled right out of my palm and on to the floor. Almost blatantly telling me to get back on the exercise mat and finish my set which was dismissed as 'too tough' just thirty minutes earlier. The clock continued to tick, least bothered by my inability to move after such revelations from the bean. My husband was well into his day after his efficient routine that included staying far away from the musings I had to offer. My brain was riding a roller coaster. Ups and downs, some foreseen, others a complete surprise round the bend. I knew the tracks were hinged in well, but when would I get thrown off!
And then came a crash. In my energy levels, after all this over heating of the mind, after that of the pan and my body earlier. My resolve started oozing away, like oil out of a can. In good measure, and with an inability to stop. Great enthusiasm to slip away, with no attempt to get back in. Well, what can one do once you start going down that rabbit hole? As my spirit withered away, a flair of drama as always as I sank deeper in to the cushioning of the sofa, I saw out of the corner of my heavy eye, a hand picking up the bean. Now that was unexpected, was it a helping hand? Does this mean I must reach out to the help that comes my way? My husband looked upon me, waiting for an explanation for my new found friendly bean. I had none to offer, and before I could sit up straight, I saw it being carrier away with no aplomb, right into the bin. My instinct was to scream and run after it, more dramatic than my earlier act! But I let it be, because some things cannot be helped. It was me, my floor mat and my will power that had to fight it out. Why bring the little happy bean into the ring, when it gave me productive use of an hour. Full circle and yet some more.
And somehow in that moment, I discovered that this was my third bean of the day, the one that got away. My happy little friend living out its free spirit. The first one was to awaken and energize, the second for nourishment and cooking distractions, and the third to help me question as we must, prodding with its gentle questions and encouragement. As I pushed myself off the sofa, questions still fresh with no answer in sight, I was convinced that the happy bean would show up again. Maybe in another form, but at the right time. To ask me the questions that need not be answered right away, to help me decipher the workings of my mind, and to bring some drama into a life that I could choose to live out as either a happy little bean, or one that gets ground for liquid gold or malleable green!
Comments