Tag: Personal Reflections

  • From the Writer’s Desk: The Comfort of Staying In

    From the Writer’s Desk: The Comfort of Staying In

    If you’ve been following Salt, Ink & Soul for any length of time, you’ve probably noticed I make a lot of one-pot meals and casseroles.

    There’s a reason for that.

    I enjoy cooking, but I also believe in making life a little easier where I can. Cooking a meal that lasts several days means I don’t have to stand in front of the refrigerator every evening wondering what to make. It means something is waiting for me when I’m hungry, something I prepared with my own hands, using ingredients I selected and seasonings I understand.

    I know what’s in it. I know how it was cooked. And perhaps most importantly, I know I’ll enjoy eating it.

    There’s a practical side to all of this, too.

    Have you seen grocery prices lately? Or what it costs to sit down in a restaurant for a meal that, sometimes, leaves you wondering why you didn’t just cook at home?

    I’ve had those meals. We’ve all had those meals.

    So I’ve learned to prepare enough to last a few days. It saves money, keeps me from reaching for something unhealthy simply because it’s convenient, and gives me one less thing to worry about.

    But I’ve noticed something else.

    I’ve become very comfortable at home.

    Perhaps a little too comfortable.

    I enjoy the quiet. I enjoy being surrounded by familiar things, moving through the day at my own pace, without having to explain myself to anyone. There’s something deeply satisfying about a home that feels like a refuge from the world’s noise.

    And I don’t believe there’s anything wrong with that.

    For much of our lives, we’re told to keep moving, keep doing, keep finding something to occupy our time. As though a quiet afternoon spent reading, cooking, or simply enjoying our own company is somehow a waste of time.

    I’ve never quite agreed.

    But I’ve also begun to recognize that there’s a fine line between enjoying solitude and becoming so accustomed to it that stepping outside feels unnecessary.

    Sometimes I have to remind myself that there’s a world beyond my front door.

    Restaurants I’ve never visited. Conversations I’ve yet to have. Ordinary experiences that don’t need to become extraordinary to be worth having.

    So yes, I still go out to eat occasionally. Not always because I’m hungry for something I can’t prepare myself, but because I think it’s important to get dressed, leave the house, and participate in the world.

    Even when the couch is comfortable.

    Especially when the couch is comfortable.

    I suppose many of us struggle with finding that balance as we get older. Learning to appreciate the peace we’ve created without letting it become a boundary we rarely cross.

    Perhaps that’s another part of finding balance: making the life I enjoy at home a little easier, without forgetting the life waiting outside.

    And somehow, all of this brings me back to the kitchen.

    I’ve recently been looking for a new one-pot cooking appliance. The rice cooker I’ve relied on for quite some time seems to have finally reached retirement age.

    It’s been a dependable little companion in the kitchen, but even dependable things wear out eventually.

    Since I’m usually cooking for one, I don’t need anything particularly large. I’m looking for something versatile, practical, and easy to use. Something that lets me keep cooking the way I enjoy.

    I’ve been doing my research, comparing different models, reading reviews, and trying to decide which one makes the most sense.

    I’ll share what I eventually choose, and whether it lives up to my expectations.

    As I think about all of this, I realize the way we cook often says something about the way we live.

    For me, preparing meals ahead of time is certainly practical. But it’s also a small way of caring for myself, making sure that even on days when I don’t feel particularly ambitious, something nourishing is waiting for me.

    There’s comfort in that.

    And I’m learning that comfort is good, as long as I remember life has more to offer than what I’ve managed to fit within the walls of my home.

    Perhaps that’s the balance I’m looking for.

    A warm meal waiting in the refrigerator.

    A comfortable place to come home to.

    And enough curiosity about the world to keep opening the front door.

    Kyle J. Hayes

    kylehayesblog.com

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  • Some Beauty Is Best Admired from the Ground

    Some Beauty Is Best Admired from the Ground

    It’s Balloon Fiesta time in Albuquerque, and once again, the sky is giving people a reason to look up.

    There is something wonderful about that. People stop what they are doing. Conversations pause. For a moment, whatever was demanding our attention has to compete with an enormous splash of color floating over the city.

    I admire it. The balloons, certainly, but also the people who make it all possible.

    The pilots. The ground crews. The vendors getting ready to feed people who have left their beds at an hour when breakfast feels like both a necessity and a reward. Everyone working behind the scenes, carrying equipment, preparing, organizing, and tending to details most of us will never notice.

    We see something beautiful in the sky. Beneath it is a great deal of human effort.

    I appreciate that. As someone who writes and cooks, I know the finished thing rarely tells the whole story of what it took to make it. People see the plate. They read the essay. They don’t necessarily see the preparation, the mistakes, or the work that happened before there was anything worth sharing.

    Those balloons carry some of that invisible work.

    And then, usually somewhere in the middle of my admiration, somebody asks:

    “Have you gone up in one?”

    “No.”

    My answer comes quickly. No need to check my calendar.

    I respect the people who pilot those balloons. I admire the people who climb into the baskets and trust the pilot, the equipment, and the wind. I understand that, for them, the experience might be peaceful, exhilarating, or something they will remember with joy for the rest of their lives.

    I would remember it, too.

    Peaceful is probably not the word I would use.

    I do not like heights. I don’t even particularly like going into tall buildings. I can appreciate windows perfectly well from several feet away, preferably while seated.

    And yes, I fly.

    But flying involves prayer, proper medication, and a prolonged conversation between the part of me that knows airplanes can fly and the part of me that would like to know why we couldn’t have driven.

    For me, the flight is a fairly constant feeling of terror until we land safely. Other people might settle in and enjoy a movie. I wait for the wheels to touch the Ground so my shoulders can return to their usual place.

    So a basket beneath a balloon, moving with the wind?

    I wish everybody a beautiful trip.

    I will be down here.

    There was a time when admitting something like that might have felt a little embarrassing. We hear so much about facing our fears, pushing our limits, and saying yes to experiences that frighten us. Sometimes that advice is useful. Some things are worth doing even when our hands shake.

    Sharing a piece of writing that reveals more than we intended. Beginning again after disappointment. Having a conversation we have spent years avoiding.

    I have fears I need to work through because something meaningful waits on the other side.

    But I have never stood beneath a hot-air balloon and felt that my unfinished life was waiting in its basket.

    What I feel is admiration. Curiosity. Pleasure in watching something extraordinary.

    And I am comfortable with that.

    Getting older has made me more honest about what I enjoy and what I merely feel expected to enjoy. There is a certain relief in appreciating someone else’s experience without needing to have it yourself.

    I can listen when they describe the view. I can enjoy their photographs. I can be glad they went and glad they came back with a story to tell.

    My own enjoyment begins with both feet on the Ground.

    From here, I can watch the colors move across the sky. I can think about the skill it takes to guide those balloons and the trust it takes to ride in them. I can appreciate the crews whose work allows the rest of us to stand around looking amazed.

    There is plenty to see from where I am.

    And perhaps that is part of what I love about the Fiesta: so many people contributing something different to the same occasion. Some fly. Some help them rise. Some feed the crowd. Some simply look up, grateful that somebody went to all this trouble to put a little wonder into the morning.

    I am happy to be among the people looking up.

    So if you ask whether I have gone up in one, the answer will still be quick.

    No.

    But if you want someone to admire the balloons with you, appreciate the people who make them possible, and perhaps find a breakfast burrito afterward, I’m available.

    You’ll know where to find me.

    On the Ground, having a lovely time.

    Kyle J. Hayes

    kylehayesblog.com

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  • The Writer’s Desk: Apparently, I Have to Leave It

    The Writer’s Desk: Apparently, I Have to Leave It

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