I think I’m just beginning to admit to myself that I enjoy the quiet moments on my porch with a cup of coffee as much as I enjoy taking off down the trail on the next hiking adventure. This is a new revelation for me because sitting still is really hard.
I love getting out of town and going somewhere new makes me come alive and conscious of the great world around me. It helps take my mind off the one million things going on in the city – the experiments that maybe worked or didn’t work this week, the fact that I miss my family in CO like crazy, or even the loneliness I feel. Going fills my time with planning, seeing, doing. It occupies the space in my mind that would otherwise be devoted to my worries. Rather, staying forces me to face these realities, and a weekend in the city leaves me feeling anxious.
This weekend I stayed home and made an apple pie with an almond flour crust. I was inspired by the recipe I found by a friend from high school. She has a paleo/grain free blog with lots of adorable and tasty looking dishes so I thought I would give it a shot.
On Friday I prepped the crust using my handy-dandy mixer and put it in the fridge overnight. Then on Saturday morning I sat and peeled the apples I picked up at a farm stand last weekend in North Georgia (Also, one of the only places in the world where you can get fried corn on the cob – YIKES). I thought the recipe was actually pretty easy – just peel the apples, cut, and mix with coconut sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg, and lemon juice. The trickiest part was getting the crust to work because when I tried to shape the crust into the pan it completely fell apart.
All week I imagined a perfect pie with an adorable lattice crust on top. However, my real pie was far from perfect, it was square and there was no lattice crust. With a scoop of vanilla ice cream though…. near perfection.
So this is where I’m at – definitely nowhere near perfection. Part of me enjoyed this weekend, and part of me is bummed that I didn’t do more to make the most of it. It’s really pressure I put on myself, but it can be suffocating at times. Why is there this notion that if we aren’t constantly on the go then we aren’t truly living?