I had waited, checked and checked again. Was it ripe, ready to harvest? Apparently so. Careful, so as to not take all the stalks ensuring further and future growth, I cut four or five stalks I had watched steadily grow and hoped and prayed I was doing this gardening thing right.
It astounds me that something so beautiful, delicious and nutritious has leaves that are poisonous to humans. With that in mind, I took extra care to make sure that they were all gone and I tossed them into the compost bin. I cut the stalks into shorter lengths, placed them in the saucepan with some water and a sprinkling of sugar, because, well… I have a sweet tooth and I walked away. I was juggling a few things at the time and thought this would be an ideal opportunity to get a few of the little things on my to-do list done.
I became engrossed in the task and time flew by. I realised my error when the smell hit me. The charring on the bottom of the saucepan revealed my sense of smell had not failed me. My harvest was ruined. One of my greatest faults in the kitchen is failing to set a timer. I think that’s partly because a) I think I’ll remember (and I don’t) and b) many of the houses I lived in did not have an oven timer that worked. Yes, I know I could use my phone, but I honestly don’t think of that!
Disappointed and annoyed with myself, I scraped the ruined contents of the saucepan into my kitchen compost collection container and took it outside. Did I mention that I was annoyed with myself?
I had dreamed of rhubarb crumble and that dream had crumbled alright. It’s a small example but a powerful one to remind me that things don’t always go to plan. It also reminds me of the Theodore Roosevelt quote I first read when Brene Brown shared it.
“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.”
― Theodore Roosevelt
I could have angrily tossed my charred rhubarb in the bin (not even the compost bin), then gone and pulled out the plant never to have the opportunity again to cook it. I didn’t, thankfully, because it continues to grow and it is almost ready to harvest again and because one setback does not denote failure forever, nor does it denote something I should not try again. I did fail. I failed to pay attention, to do one thing at a time, to slow down and I probably should have not left whatever I was doing to the last minute. I am not a failure and that’s important to note. I stuffed up this one time, and I will again, but that doesn’t account for all the times I have succeeded.
The failure of not having a yummy dessert served as a lesson for when bigger tasks don’t go to plan. I’m not a failure when I burn rhubarb, forget a meeting, take a wrong turn or say the wrong thing, these are all crossroads that I get to choose how to respond to. Like a bowerbird building its nest, I can collect all these pieces of knowledge and tuck their lessons away for safekeeping. Each decision that comes my way in the future then, I can draw upon my experiences of the past to help me to make different decisions and to move forward. It might simply be to remind myself to pay attention, to do one thing at a time, to slow down, to not leave things to the last minute, to turn the oven timer on or to set the timer on my phone. It might also be to remind myself again to pick myself up and carry on because things don’t always go to plan.
Photo by Karolina Kołodziejczak on Unsplash
Musings By Macca 