I have a confession to make: I don’t really like cooking. This is despite the fact that I’m good at planning, good at executing the plan, and the results are consistently above average. I do sometimes enjoy putting something together, particularly if it’s a new idea or something for an event or company, but, for the most part, I view cooking as a tedious chore that I perform only because it has to be done, and almost never because I actually WANT to. And, believe me, I’ve tried really, really hard to want to. It took me a long time to realize that I am under no obligation to enjoy the things I’m good at and stop feeling guilty about not “appreciating” my abilities. I can’t make myself love something just because I have a skill for it, and continuing to force the issue isn’t helpful at all.
Even more tedious is having to clean up after I’ve used what little energy I can muster dragging my ass out there to cook something. I often end up leaving dishes for the next day because I’m pretty much spent by then. This isn’t so bad when it’s just me (as it almost always is, these days), but having just one other person for just one meal seems to multiply dirty dishes exponentially, and it can take me a day or two to catch up.
I suppose all of this is just the cost of being a grown-up. All I can really hope for is that, eventually, the number of things I enjoy will equal or outnumber the things I don’t. This has not always been the case, but I’ve had enough brief periods of it that I still have hope. And, maybe someday, I will finally have the privilege of choosing when I cook. Until then, I’ll probably be eating a lot of macaroni and cheese.