Embracing the thorny side of life

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We’re entering a new season here at the Feminist Kitchen.

It’s been almost four years since I started this blog as an outlet for ideas that didn’t have any other home. I’m incredibly proud of the 173-post body of work I somehow found time to create during such an expansive (and exhausting) phase of my life. Some of those posts would absolutely qualify as echo-chamber rants, others as personal diary entries perhaps better suited for a more private space, but all of them were cathartic to write and I’m glad I did.

But as I tell anyone who wants to listen, blogging is an evolving practice we dedicate ourselves to when it serves us and have to let go when it doesn’t. I’m somewhere in between those two extremes with this blog right now, and I’ve decided to treat it like this gorgeous thistle I came across over the weekend.

I was with the kids and Ian out in the Hill Country, and as we headed to a waterway that fed into a lake, the benign bluebonnets from up on the hill were choked out by the most unbelievable spread of thistles I’d ever seen. Beautiful to look at, painful to touch. We just did our best to navigate through them to get to the destination: Creekside fishing and yoga, peaceful activities that filled all of our buckets.

For now, I’m putting the blog on hold and have opened the door for FK book clubbers to take the lead on meetings in the near (and maybe long-term) future.

I’ll leave you with a poem/meditation from Rumi that a yoga teacher read at the end of a recent class. It’s about a guest house, but it could just as easily be a kitchen or any other metaphorical space in which you figure out what you’re doing here, what you stand for and how you handle whatever comes through the door, even if it’s thorny.

The Guest House

This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they are a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice.
meet them at the door laughing and invite them in.

Be grateful for whatever comes.
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.

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3 responses to “Embracing the thorny side of life

  1. Your voice will be missed. But I trust you’ll find it taking to song in other venues. I’ve learned a lot by following you as you did this.

  2. I don’t know what’s going on in the world or the blogosphere but your blog is the second this week among my favorite blogs announcing you’re hitting the pause/stop button. I myself haven’t published anything on my food blog for a month and a half and I’m not sure I ever will again – after 5 years of “duty”.

    Your words “we dedicate ourselves to (our blog) when it serves us and have to let go when it doesn’t” speak to me, as does the poem from Rumi.

    I’ve enjoyed reading you, Addie, and hope I will again some day. In the meantime, all my best to your, your family, your life/blog/work balance and any endeavor you might go on.

    Love from sunny Lyon, France (if you ever drop by here…)

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