There's an article from last week's New York Times that's drawing a lot of attention, at least in the circles I travel in. It's called The Joy of Quiet and in it, writer Pico Iyer very eloquently describes his search for quiet and stillness and how now, more than ever, people are seeking out places where their technology can't follow them in order to find a bit of peace. What strikes me, though, is this idea that we have to go somewhere far away, to a hermitage or a monastery or move to rural Japan, to experience the quiet and focus we all crave. I think we simply have to go to the kitchen.
It's not that it's a bad thing to go to places that ask things of us that our everyday lives don't, that encourage stillness, reflection, and offer a quiet environment that can support this kind of inquiry. But Mr. Iyer's life, which consists of living in rural Japan without a cell phone, is a very, very different existence than most people have or can ever hope to achieve. Most of us have to live in busy metropolises and work long hours at intense jobs, all the while juggling our families and household maintenance and 10, 000 other things.
So perhaps a more realistic endeavor than taking off to a mountain top is to find those same qualities right where we are, in the middle of our everyday life. This stillness we seek doesn't belong only in the monasteries and ashrams that we visit. It lives within us, it is a part of us. We just have to find it and unfold it. Sometimes it's just the simple act of remembering that it's there.
If you are a regular reader of this column, then you know that finding stillness and connection in the kitchen is an ongoing theme here. For me, the kitchen offers a perfect blend of activity, focus, practicality, and creativity that helps to root me in a sense of well-being. But even more, being in the kitchen requires engagement and attention. When I'm cooking I need to be focused in the task at hand. I need to be present and attentive for the food will quickly teach me when I'm not. There will be burns and cuts, or over salted pasta or too much sugar, or missing ingredients. There will be pain.
But perhaps even more important, cooking is about being in relationship: to the ingredients, to the space I am occupying, to the people I am cooking for, to the life-force that enables this nourishment to happen. When I'm in relationship in this way, I'm also engaged in a form of stillness, or to put it another way, in a state of non-being. Or to put it another way, I'm participating in something deeper and more significant to my life than tending to my ego's restlessness and dissatisfaction.
So yes, we can look for this in a hotel on the cliffs of Big Sur where our cell phone doesn't work and there's no TV in the room, and there's nothing wrong with that. But if for some reason that isn't possible for you, then send the roommates or family away (promising them dinner when they return,) unplug all the devices and get into the kitchen. Let the carrots and salt teach you about presence, let the kale and chicken show you what is needed in this moment and this moment only. The pile of dishes, the sound of the oil when it's ready to receive the onions, the way you know the cake is done just by the way it smells. Presence, awareness, relationship. Engagement in the moment is like a sacrament, a ritual, and it opens up a path to a simple but very powerful stillness that is always available, always right at hand. There's no where to be but here.
• From the New York Times, The Joy of Quiet by Pico Iyer
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(Image: Dana Velden)
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What a lovely post. I always enjoy the quiet the kitchen gives me.
I absolutely relish a quiet morning spent in the kitchen - well said!
Ya thats so true,even I luv to cook when I am alone,..:) and ya I truly enjoy each second,.
"But perhaps even more important, cooking is about being in relationship:" - PERFECTION!!
I often try to find those moments (because let's face it, they are often only moments) when I can be still in the middle of the day. The kitchen offers a great chance.... but really what I heard from you is that stillness is where you are.. in the car, in the kitchen, walking to the store... Depending on how you are relating to the event/experience... it can all be stillness...
I think I will experiment with that this week.
I feel exactly the same way, but have always had a hard time explaining it to others. I just say that being in the kitchen cooking or baking is my "zen space". That I can "shut my brain off from everything else but the task at hand". Being a type A personality, that is a difficult mind space to achieve and normally requires a drive to the ocean, which is seldom very convenient. Thank for expressing so eloquently what I have yet to put into proper words.
I woke up early, stirred my crockpot full of steel cut oats, and then went and snuggled back in bed. It was wonderful and quiet and peaceful. Today I'm going grocery shopping and going to spend the evening chopping and cooking and prepping and stirring. My favorite things.
I can attest to the quiet concentration. Usually I like to have the TV on or listen to music while knitting or doing other hand-tasks, but sometimes I get so immersed in cooking that I forget the house is dead silent. It's nice.
Beautiful words. So many people don't understand cooking as a way to unwind at the end of the day or week. As a meditation. You describe it perfectly.
The joy and quiet of being in the kitchen are so much a part of my inner core, something that brings me peace...sometimes I feel as if I am out of step with the majority of others who seem to thrive on constant motion and frenzied activity. There are no worries allowed, save for paying attention to recipes, and much creativity. I just spent the whole day in the kitchen, cooking breakfast, baking and decorating cupcakes, and making a beef,barley,butternut squash stew....and I am content,sated,happy...and that is enough.
I just completed - except for a bit more cleanup - our favorite vegetable soup. A list of ingredients, without measurements. Slicing, dicing, determining how many and how much to include, smiling while remembering the people who gifted some of the spices and the people with whom I will share this, loving the combination of colors and the wonderful scent. Presence, awareness, relationship, just as you describe, Dana.
I just experienced this same feeling last friday afternoon. Alone in the kitchen, making buns, and it was just me and the dough. Kneading it with a zen like force. The only sounds were the clock ticking and the dough hitting the counter top. The moments in the kitchen where you can put all of your worries in hand kneaded bread... or your biggest worry is if you kneaded it enough!
I find when I don't have enough time in the kitchen, I'm become quite salty.
You are very wise. This makes perfect sense...thanks!
Thanks for this post. Three days before my wedding my mother went into the hospital, she was my only family member that was going to be there, and I didn't know whether she'd be released in time. Before all this, I planned to make gluten-free cupcakes for the reception. When all this went down, everyone told me to just order the damn cupcakes, but I didn't listen, and I was glad I didn't. As crazy as everything was and as out of control as it was (including my crying), I had a sense of calm in the hours while baking the night before the wedding that I couldn't achieve doing anything else. In the end, she was able to make it, but the big thing that got me through that stress was my time in the kitchen.
Wonderful post. I find I'm very sensitive to the noise of the city I live in so I take a 'no technology' weekend every month - and - as often as possible I get up early in the morning, especially on weekends, so I can spend some time in my garden or kitchen before the rest of the neighborhood wakes up. In Summer, you'll find me in the garden either doing garden work or yoga as the sun rises; in Winter, you'll find me in the kitchen making something wonderful (breakfast, bread, even just a hot tisane made from the garden offerings) and then sitting by the window looking into the garden as the sun rises. While I long for the quiet I imagine would be found in a country life right now this is the best way to keep me centered and surviving in the noise of city life.
Your words are so, so beautiful Dana.
I understand the calm of the kitchen. Agree with it. Even experience it on occasion. But cooking (and the resulting cleanup) happens every single day, more than once a day and I find that something like this that has to happen continuously is rarely relaxing. I admire those who can approach this task with joy on a daily basis.
I wrote a post for my blog that hilighted 5 reasons why I love to cook, and this was one of them. Cooking is meditative if you do it right.