I wasn't expecting to write this kind of post on this blog. Actually, I wasn't expecting to write it anywhere. That's the whole purpose of the unexpected though, to throw you off kilter. I'll spare you the grim details, but to summarise, I recently had my heart broken. I was betrayed, lied to, replaced, made to feel insignificant and I felt like an utter fool. An astonishing number of years of love, devotion and all kinds of sacrifices were rewarded with a 30 minute apology by telephone and a brisk goodbye. Few things in life have hurt me more. No single person has ever hurt me more. But I don't want to turn this into a confessional. I don't want to become an Alanis Morissette song in human form. You know the song I mean. This blog has always been a place of great enjoyment for me and I want to try and pick up where I left off some five or six weeks ago. There is, however, a purpose to this first, gnawing paragraph.
In the weeks following that ill fated phonecall, a strange thing happened. I lost my passion for food, crafts and all manner of homely things. All the creative stuff that usually made me feel warm, cosy and secure didn't feel right any more. I didn't care about them. Maybe when one thing I had always relied upon betrayed me, I felt like the rest had too. I didn't lose my appetite. Even during that first seven days where I permanently felt as if I'd had the air knocked completely out of me, I still ate. But I stopped caring about what I was going to cook. I wasn't that bothered about buying lovely ingredients, getting all the flavours perfect and making meals look beautiful on the plate and in photographs. Food became fuel to me. I have never felt that way about food. It was unsettling. I felt like not only was my heart broken, but that my entire self had been picked up, thrown around like a cocktail shaker and was unable settle again.
I began to realise that when I was happy, or at the very least content, I cooked. I created. I felt inspired. When I was unhappy and hurt those channels became blocked off. Interestingly, some creative people say they get their best ideas when they're sad. I had the opposite experience.
I remember reading an interview with Charlotte Church a few months ago where she spoke about her then dramatic weight loss. Part of it had been planned as her 'post-baby get back in shape' regime. But she also mentioned that as her relationship with Gavin Henson deteriorated she became unhappy and she lost interest in food. I get that now. Especially knowing what a keen cook she is. Alright, so I experienced no weightloss, but I too discovered my enjoyment of the kitchen was massively connected to how happy my heart was. I couldn't write about cooking and homely things because I felt disconnected from them. What was I supposed to say? "Rustled up some chips and a sausage roll from the freezer for tea. It was alright. It filled a hole."My connection to these things is part of who I am and that's only just revealed itself. Bizarrely, I felt even more able to write about professional wrestling on my other blog. I still haven't figured that part out yet.
So this is a new start. My heart still hurts but my creative mojo is starting to return ever so gradually. For a little while, this blog will serve as a record of all the little steps I'm making in bringing it back to life. You may not even realise what those steps are, but they'll be there. I probably won't mention any of this again, but I thought it might be useful to put it all down before I reboot. Tonight I made my first real curry. I've made countless curries over the years but this is my first from absolute scratch. No jars of sauce or ready-made pastes, just a Madhur Jaffrey book and some crossed fingers. Not only did it turn out to be incredible, but the cooking process was more exciting than it has been in what feels like a very long time. I'll write about it later in the week. Thank you for reading.