Circular Food

I don’t have the reflexes for this.

I find myself thinking this phrase for the fifth or sixth time as I stare at a pizza pan in the kitchen supplies aisle at Target.

For the past seven years, I’ve had the luxury of a lifestyle with in-built limitations. If I acquire a possession that doesn’t fit in my bag, I’m forced to decide between getting rid of something that’s already in there, or crossing the treacherous threshold into dealing with checked luggage.

This framework works in tandem with the traveler’s philosophy of rolling with the punches: you make do with what you’ve got. If you cannot find the necessary accouterment or resource, you MacGyver together an acceptable substitute, ‘live off the land’ by asking a stranger if you can use theirs, or perhaps most common, change your expectations so that you enjoy whatever you end up doing instead.

The philosophical expectation of planting oneself in a given location is somewhat different. It presupposes certain infrastructural wealth, meaning that if you need to open a bottle of wine but don’t have a corkscrew, you don’t stop by a nearby restaurant to see if they can help you out — you simply buy a corkscrew. And put it in a drawer. And now you have a corkscrew.

It’s a system predicated on the idea of security over flexibility. By purchasing a corkscrew, you’ll never find yourself going without one. You’re good to go, corkscrew-wise. All corkscrew-related problems, solved.

I’ve been staring at this pizza pan for probably ten minutes now, trying to decide if the $5 price tag and space it’ll take up in my home would be worth the pizza-related security and peace of mind it would offer.

I don’t have the reflexes for this. This isn’t how my brain works, anymore.

Sometimes I’ll pay more, in time or money, for a resource — say, pizza — because I lack the rooted framework that allows some people to own such pans, and to have access to the necessary ovens, which grant them cheaper, faster, circular foods.

The tradeoff is that now they have this structure, this oven and pizza pan and little rotating pizza slicer resource trio, taking up space in their lives. They’ll use it how often? Maybe once a month? Less than that? And yet it’s always there, occupying physical and mental real estate.

This is the price of security. Of knowing, should you find yourself with a pizza that needs baking, you’re all set. You won’t find yourself embarrassed or hungry, lacking the proper preparatory resources.

This is something most of us take for granted, as it’s packaged and sold as the singular, correct way to live. Why wouldn’t you want that pan? Why wouldn’t you want an oven, which grants you so many new and exciting cooking options? Why wouldn’t you want a corkscrew in the drawer, for popping all the corks life will no doubt bring your way in the future?

I’m still standing in the same aisle, looking at the pizza cutter, the corkscrew, the spatulas of varying shapes, the whisks, the measuring cups, the knives, the peelers, the corers, the silicon oven-mitts, the aprons, the can openers, the pan scrapers, the cutting boards, the pepper grinders, the cutlery organizers, the coaster sets, the at-home popsicle molds, the garlic presses, the meat tenderizers — the many material compositions and colors of each, the varieties of quality (or implied quality) of each, the dozens of in-store brands and implicitly-better-brand-name brands of each.

At what point am I secure?

When do I get to feel prepared?

And in that preparedness, am I playing into some bigger system? A culture of fear that has us scrambling to be ready to bake pizzas, because it’s something we can control in this large, unpredictable, often-scary world in which we live?

What scares me is the weight of these things, and what it means for my options; for my ability to change direction.

The space a pizza pan takes up in my life is relatively negligible, but its weight is added to a tidal wave of stuff, of acquired appliances and furniture and duvets and everything else, all bought with the intent to add something to my life, be it luxury or practicality or security.

That weight creates momentum, and that momentum means that I’m a lot less capable of changing direction quickly.

I want to bring what I’ve learned from travel — owning only what I need, things that add value — into this incredibly unfamiliar, uncomfortable, disorienting lifestyle that I’ve decided to tackle.

To try this heavy, protective, padded, comparably restrictive clothing on for size, after years of running metaphorically naked through the world, not needing or wanting the enfolding security of a consistent home; of a consistent anything.

I’m learning to cook while here in Wichita, and among many others things, I want to learn to make pizza from scratch. This object, this weighty possession, this pizza pan, will likely be useful for that, rather than becoming a purposeless cabinet-filler of the sort I’m trying to avoid.

I add the pan to my basket and move on to the next object, and slowly, oh so slowly, the next. And the next.

And the next.

I don’t have the reflexes for this, but I want to develop them.

I just want to ensure I don't develop the wrong ones along the way.

Some Things

I'm in Wichita! I've moved into my apartment, and though there are still little things here and there which need attending to, most of my move-in responsibilities (including furniture-building) are now taken care of.

It was a methodical, somewhat boring process, but it was also a nice intermission before jumping back into work.

1. Let's Know Things Podcast

I released an interstitial episode of the podcast recently, in which I talked about the show and how it's doing, discussed some upcoming sponsorships, and answered some questions.

The response to this was positive, so I'll continue to do interstitial episodes periodically. If you have a question you'd like me to answer on air, shoot me an email, or ask via the LKT Facebook page.

And! The most recent episode of the podcast, entitled Click, just went live today (episode, show notes).

Super-psyched to have two sponsors for the show, and both are companies I love.

One of them, Hostgator, offered up a huge discount for their services (which I love and often recommend even non-discounted), in addition to an affiliate bonus for me anytime someone signs up. Don't buy or sign up for anything you don't need, but if you've been looking to start up a blog or website, or want to switch to the super-reliable platform that I've been using for years, here's the link you can use to get that discount and help the show.

(Feel free to ask any questions you might have about hosting, too — I'm happy to tell you what I can.)

If you think your product/service/project would be a good match for me and the LKT audience, let's talk.

You can also sign up for the Let's Know Things newsletter, like it on Facebook, and follow it on Instagram.

2. Consider This

I've got my at-home podcasting station all set up, and today I'm setting up the lights and camera and such for my YouTube show, Consider This.

If you want to ask a question for me to answer on on-air, you can email me, or ask via the Consider This Facebook page.

3. Recommendations

Over the course of the next few weeks, I'll be adding new recommendations to my recommendations page, where I keep an ongoing list of products and services that I enjoy, and which I frequently recommend to folks who ask.

This is another way to support me and my work — many of the links have affiliate codes attached, which means if you click-through and buy something from Amazon, I get a small percentage of the cost as a referrer's fee (at no additional cost to you).

Be sure to read and really consider the words at the top of that page, though: possessions can add value to our lives, but only if we're really careful in how we consume. In other words, don't buy just to buy.

Outro

I'm settling into my new home here in Kansas, and I'll be reflecting on that on my blog and elsewhere in the coming weeks.

I'll also be falling into a steady work rhythm, which is something I've missed: sleeping consistent hours, reading a whole lot, working hard on projects I love, eating well (while learning to cook), enjoying a quiet, simple environment...yes please.

If you've yet to say hello, consider shooting me an email and telling me a bit about yourself, where you're from, and what you're up to.

You can also find me online, via Facebook, Twitter, YouTube, Instagram, Snapchat, Periscope, and essentially everywhere else you might think to look.

Wichita is hot as hell and humid, to boot. The politics here are crazy and you have to hop in a car to get anywhere. These are all attributes I dislike in a city — I can't wait to find all the things I'll love about the area.