I woke the other day and made miso oatmeal, stirred through with honey and roasted pistachios. Correction: I finished making miso oatmeal–most of the labor had been done the night before and I had slapped a “Julia’s Oatmeal, please leave here :)’ post-it on the pot lid before I turned in for the night. Three months ago I wouldn’t have thought to claim my various food experiments (my most recent ‘meh’ horchata attempt could have sat on that refrigerator shelf for months if I didn’t finish drinking it first, my family is that hands off about things).
But that was three months ago.
Last time I circled vaguely around a Big Scary Thing that I’d resolved to do this year and… well, I did it. I moved at the beginning of February! to New York City (center of the universe, times are sh-tty, but I’m pretty sure they can’t get worse; let’s… not tempt the Evil Eye with that)! Or at least I think I did–my body and my little cookbook collection and my clothes are here, but I still largely feel like I’m on an extended vacation, somewhere between limbo and the present tense.