Sharing Popcorn

            As I go through my belongings and pack for yet another move, I found this tin box that says “Make your own magic.”  Inside exists a little bit of old popcorn.  No, they are not the buttered old kernels that get stuck in your teeth.  This popcorn is something else.   

            Years ago, I attended a workshop led by the infamous author, screenwriter, and teacher Julia Cameron.  She was leading an immersive training on one of her most notable projects: The Artist Way.  This event focused on how one can reconnect or jumpstart their creativity.  There are writing exercises, self-reflective activities, and within a group one can expect sharing.  When this is taught in a group, one thing she had us do was share popcorn.  Popcorn are little wishes, blessings, or compliments one offers other members of the group. She used the metaphor of popcorn, because these statements are quick, joyful, spontaneous, and delicious.  Even if one is a stranger, you must write a positive fortune for this individual.  You can be as creative as you like.

            The 12 Week Artist Way is a project I not only finished, but led many groups over the years.  And sometimes I bring out the popcorn exercise.  In this little tin box, I’ve kept some of these popcorns I have received.  I know if I am feeling down, I can go into this box. 

One I received said: “Your radiate a warmth and calm energy, that feels like it’s about to have a breakthrough.” Another said “Your kind and open heart will always guide you, as your strong connection to your spiritual center. Let this be the sole guide for your life and never ever let this go for anything or anyone.”

            It’s interesting the things we choose to keep over the years.  I move frequently, and have donated, discarded, or upcycled many things.  This little popcorn box is still quite special to me.  I hope you have something like this among your precious belongings.

Curry

Earlier today I was in a checkout line at a Filipino grocery store.  My purchases were small but intentional: a ten pound bag of Thai Jasmine rice, Chinese Mabo Tofu mix,Vietnamese  Pho noodles, pad Thai sauce, Japanese udon noodles, some local vegetables, and a packet of Korean curry. The young cashier who was checking me out on the register said to me, “I have one question, what is curry?” 

I looked at her in amazement, I assumed everyone who worked at the store was Filipino or some type of Asian, but she appeared to be Mexican American.  I proceeded to summarize curry as a type of stew “It’s a stew that adds flavor to your veggies and meats.”  I was so astonished that someone didn’t know what a curry was, and I was wondering if I was offering a poor answer to this question.  “This is a Korean curry, but there are Japanese curries, Thai curries, Indian curries, so many kinds.”  She was open to admitting her lack of knowledge on the subject.  “I want to start experimenting and try cooking new dishes.  I tried the Filipino curry, and so I was wondering about this curry.”  I was curious what dish she was talking about, as Filipinos technically don’t have curries, or maybe I didn’t view it in that way. Was it adobo, kare kare, or caldereta? I didn’t want to keep up the line, but offered her a “thank you and good luck with your curries.” 

I wondered if my definition excited or deterred her from curry.  There was so much more to say about it, but I was caught off guard. And yet in that moment, I appreciated this stranger’s sincere honesty and willingness to seek more knowledge.  I also was in awe of the fact that we were in California in an area full of diversity, in which we can learn, understand, and appreciate things from each culture.  My $33 spent on groceries was an abundance of Asian wealth from a variety of countries.  We take that for granted these days, but in the moment I was appreciative of the global education we all can offer each other while in line at an ethnic grocery store.

Fondue Etiquette

I was in a fondue pop up Swiss Restaurant in a French Agriculture Exposition.  And I felt judged.  My French friend watched me as I dipped my bread into the fondue pot.  I knew there was a comment to be made.  Portions of bread were provided to be dipped in the cheese, and so I did.  After some time, he said “no, cut it into small pieces, like this.  That way you could cover every spot of the bread and have even more cheese with more little pieces of bread.”  Ahh.  This made more sense.  I thought dipping the big piece of bread with the skewer looked awkward.  I had only frequented The Melting Pot once, an American high end chain fondue restaurant.  It actually is the only fondue restaurant I had ever visited.  I was no pro at this, I admit.

But he kept watching me.  I knew what it was.  When I rolled my cheese in the fondue, there was so much excess string I pulled the string piece out of the pot with my fingers.  I made sure it didn’t touch the pot.  Was he worried about my germs?  “See I’m not touching the other cheese, I’m pulling it out,” I said to his perplexed face.  “No, like this,” he said.   “You must be patient, as you roll it. Just wait.” I had noted my poor fondue skills, as I had been pulling the cheesy bread out of the pot too quickly.  The string would then come with it, versus letting it linger and eventually harden to the bread before bringing it to my plate.  I realized I would have to learn to soften my American ways during this year in Paris, in more areas than just fondue etiquette.  Most likely this virtue would serve as my mantra for the months to come: patience. 

I had quit my job two months prior, and felt I needed to already be a success in this new world I was venturing into of being an entrepreneur and author.  I wanted to see results fast and damn was I struggling, like that piece of melted cheese. I seemed to forget why I had moved here.  I moved here to write my book, spend more time with my aging dogs, learn French, and make new friends.  In my previous job, the last several years my life consisted solely of work, and a minimal social life.   Here, I had the opposite schedule.  My days were filled with French classes, trips to art museums, and friendship outings, but I feel I am not being productive enough.  I was judging myself because I had yet to be a signed author.   

But everything takes time.  And who is to say I am not successful in living the life I am living right now?  It is a dream for many Americans to vacation here, let alone live here.  Wasn’t the life I am living successful because I am doing what I set out to and enjoying it along the way?  Tim Ferriss encourages us to have multiple mini retirements throughout our life, not just one big retirement.  Perhaps I can learn to live into this during the year, minus the guilt of productivity. 

So this year, as I learn the practice of undoing the busy, I will also begin to embrace the acts of pleasure and patience.  Maybe this is what Paris is meant to teach me, and to eat from a fondue properly.

“When good Americans die, they go to Paris.”-Oscar Wilde