Burnt.
Burning cake in the kitchen highlights my burnout.
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I’ve just finished watching the finale of the latest series of The Great British Bake Off. My mom and I have been avid bake off fans since forever (back in the days of Mary Berry, if you care to know), and my girlfriend joined us in our tradition this time around. Before dinner the three of us squashed onto the couch, biting our nails in anticipation. As reality TV competitions go, the bake off is overwhelmingly pleasant and joyful, absent of the cutthroat atmosphere other cooking shows prefer. Even so, my girlfriend hid her head beneath her blanket as this year’s winner was announced. I guess we’re just heavily invested. We’re a family of foodies, but my mom and I are big bakers, too. The bake off is fun for viewers with a casual interest in baking, I’m sure, but we watch with careful eyes, scrutinising the texture of their meringue or judging whether a vanilla sponge is over- or underbaked. The finale is great fun to watch, the challenges the bakers face are frighteningly complex (more than I could face, I guarantee you), and I love to watch them juggle dozens of tasks. In this episode the bakers had to make several cakes, pies and sandwiches for a picnic. Sandwiches? That’s easy… They had to bake the bread, first! Watching the three finalists flit from mixer to oven to freezer is very exciting. The final bake requires a delicate balance of time, demanding that the bakers carefully select where to spend the most energy. The risk of getting an element wrong builds a lot of tension on our couch. Most of the series is an intricate balancing act, really. From the get go in episode one, the twelve bakers need to manage their attention well, ensuring that they’ve allocated enough time to proof, bake, set or decorate. The ones that can’t quite manage end up burning their macarons or serving soup instead of jelly.
I’ve felt a bit like those bakers in the last month. Somehow, I always have a very long list of things to do without enough time to tick them all off. Some days I feel like the finalists who handle their overwhelming list of tasks with some poise, more or less managing to deliver the promised three-tiered cake, perhaps lacking some details. Other times I feel like it’s my first day in the bake off tent and absolutely nothing is going my way; I’ve used salt in my dough instead of sugar, I’ve forgotten to turn my oven on and my caramel is properly burnt. I make to-do lists. I follow a routine when I can. I know how to buckle down and work. I am usually planted firmly on the other end of the running-out-of-time spectrum, but right now, I just can’t catch up. On the bake off, some assignments are more important than others. If the bakers must make an intricate loaf of artisanal bread, nailing the accompanying cream cheese spread is less important than getting the dough in the oven. The same is true of my unending to-do list. Some items simply must be ticked off: washing the stale old towels, meeting my writing deadline, eating. Others can be postponed, but often at a cost. I suppose it isn’t absolutely vital that I go for a run today, call that friend I’ve been meaning to call, take 20 minutes to journal, spend some time with my dad.
Reading the list of things that I’m willing to sacrifice, I wonder if I’ve got my priorities backwards. Take spending time with my dad as an example. For the last twenty three years I’ve lived at home with both of my parents, my dad is also a teacher at the school I attended for eight years. Finding time with dad was easy; we spent an hour in the car together every day. It was hard to identify as quality time while I had it, but it’s an hour I don’t see him for anymore. We chatted about my day or his or about books or school or friends or the world—when I wasn’t being a frosty teenager. I still live in my parents’ home for the moment, but my days are numbered. Soon I’ll lose access to more than just one hour while driving. I also plan on being on a different continent, which really cuts down on dad time. And yet, time with my dad is on the list of things I’m willing to lose? In favour of washing the towels? I know I have to be practical, I know that chores need doing, but realising that I take the time I have with my dad now for granted in favour of ticking off a list of chores sinks like a kettlebell in my gut. As I’ve discussed in previous journals, I relish structure. I feel as though I could come up with a checklist one hundred tasks long; everything in my life could be more organised, more closely scrutinised. My desk is a mess as I write this, I’m sure I have washing to do, books that I’ve promised myself I’d read, emails and messages that need answering, I haven’t gone for a real run in ages (which I unexpectedly miss). I end up structuring my days so that I check off all of the little things, or worrying about whether I can actually get to them. It often feels that when an opportunity to journal or call that friend or, indeed, spend time with my dad comes around, I haven’t set aside enough time or energy to take the opportunity. Sorry dad, I’m busy with item #56 on my to-do list…
When my dad comes home, he has some free time that he graciously spends with me (I very kindly share him with the rest of my family). We all sit together and have tea or coffee, and he usually regales us with news of his day to the sound of his manual coffee grinder. We, in turn, share our stories and plans. The rhythmic storm of coffee beans being crushed into grounds makes it a little tougher to discern the details of our days, but I suspect it’s a cacophony I’ll miss. That window of time only happens once a day. If I’m at the shops or out with friends and get home later than usual, I miss coffee time. The dirty towels wait for me all day. I think I’ve foolishly prioritised the constants in my life without considering the opportunities I am afforded. A week ago my grandparents spent some time at the coast and had more space in their accommodation than they needed. It was an opportunity for my girlfriend and I to get away, for her to discover a part of my country she hadn’t yet seen, for the two of us to spend time with my grandparents, for them to get to know her a little more. Some weeks ago, my mom was ill and stayed home. It was an opportunity to slow down and chat; she and I processed the big changes in my life. Those opportunities are gold. It’s tough to see them for what they are when I also feel the overwhelming pressure to fulfil all my other duties. In my rush to finish my list of tasks I write them off as distractions. I know that those are the moments and memories that build a life, they beget colour. Well worth prioritising.
I still have deadlines to hit, I still have chores to do, how do I get those done if they aren’t on the top of the list? I think there’s a lesson I can learn from the bake off. When the bakers make bread, the dough needs time to proof (this is when the yeast makes air bubbles); the proofing takes as long as it takes and the bakers need to plan around it. If the process is rushed or mistimed, the bread is stodgy and unpleasant. If you get the proofing wrong, none of the other details matter much, your bread won’t be tasty. Perhaps I should approach my list of priorities in the same way. The time I spend with my family or the time I take to look after my heart and mind are vital. Without it, my life becomes stodgy and unpleasant. Everything else needs to fit in around the opportunities to build life and love. It’s up to me to hit my deadlines, but it’s also up to me to recognise the opportunities I get and jump at the right ones. It’s a tough balance to nail, wonderfully illustrated by the frantic bakers who regularly get it wrong. Me too, bakers. The next bread will be a little better.
Many of my journals of late have focussed on making time and spending it in the right way. Perhaps you are walking the same journey alongside me. If you enjoyed this journal, please send it to someone you love.