The Things We Optimize the Joy Out Of

I’m sitting at home on a normal workday, eating leftovers I heated up from last night’s dinner. My mouth is watering. I’m not sure if I’m just hungry or if this really is one of the best dishes I’ve ever cooked.

Either way, it’s so good that I’m not even tempted to scroll on my phone while I eat.

I’m just sitting here, alone and completely present, savoring the warm flavors of coriander and dill and thinking, Damn, I made this.

Recently, I bought a new cookbook after two issues of Food & Wine randomly started showing up in my mailbox. Flipping through them reminded me that I love to cook. And not just cook because my family needs dinner. I love cooking really delicious, complicated dishes. The kind with too many ingredients and multiple steps. The kind you’d happily pay top dollar for at a restaurant and then talk about on the drive home.

And it made me wonder: Why haven’t I been doing this more often?

The answer, I think, is complicated.

I’ve spent so many years being afraid of calories and feeling like I needed to micromanage the exact portions I put into my body. Food became something to calculate. Something to control. And somewhere along the way, I lost something I didn’t realize I was missing.

I was missing cooking for joy.

I was always in a hurry. Always so starved by the time I got home that I didn't want to take the time to make a delicious dish. Always micromanaging. Always thinking about what was in the food instead of what I could make from it.

Over the last two or three months, I’ve adjusted my work schedule to give myself more time to slow down and cook delicious meals for my family. Not something chosen because it perfectly fits whatever numbers I think I should hit. Not necessarily the healthiest meal—though I believe any food can work with the right portion and activity level. Not the fastest meal.

Just something that sounds really damn good.

And it feels like such a luxury to be able to do this. Maybe it is. Never mind all the tiny grievances that come with being self-employed. I’m going to bask in this one.

I know not everyone loves to cook. But after those magazines showed up, I came across a cookbook that looked interesting, and instead of following my usual line of thinking—There are thousands of recipes online. I don’t need another cookbook—I bought it.

Because I love books. And I love cooking.

(Shout-out to buying books! And while we’re here, buy mine: Strong Enough to Endure. It’s on Amazon.)

It was such a small decision, but somehow it led me here: sitting alone at the bar in my kitchen on a workday, completely absorbed in every bite of sweet potato chickpea curry with dill yogurt dressing, wondering if it might be one of the best things I’ve ever made.

There was no reason I needed to buy the cookbook. There was no reason dinner needed to take longer or have more ingredients. There was certainly a more efficient way to feed myself.

But efficiency wasn't the point.

Enjoying it was.

So if you love to cook, I challenge you to take an evening and make something that takes a little longer than necessary. Buy the weird ingredient. Chop everything slowly. Follow all 14 steps. Put your phone down. Pour yourself something you enjoy and let dinner take as long as it takes.

And if cooking isn't your thing, find your version of it.

Something you’ve been rushing through, optimizing, or telling yourself you don’t have time for.

Then give yourself permission to enjoy the process again.