writing.We studied artisanal foods in intense detail, spending
days at a time learning about cheese, wine, beer, cured meats
and chocolate. We shared ideas, recipes, food – cooking meals
for each other from our own cultures. We went to aperitivo
every night. We embraced seasonality and simplicity in food.
And then there was the pasta. I discovered the magic of pasta
from scenes of nonne hand-making piles of agnolotti, the range
of fresh pastas available at every supermarket and the endless
bowls I devoured at the local osterie. There was a pasta for
every occasion, every moment, every feeling.
It was the rst time I had ever really been alone. I had never
travelled or lived by myself, so feelings of loneliness came and
went over the course of that year. This taught me more about
myself and how to appreciate my own company with a sense of
condence that would stand me in good stead down the track.
Upon my return, I secured my dream job working in
communications for the country’s best restaurants. The role
was challenging, exciting and inspiring. The people, the food,
the industry – I loved it all. I threw myself in andwork quickly
became very personal, making it hard to separate my life from
my career – but strangely it made my anxiety manageable, as
Iknew I had found my calling.
A few years later, I found myself in an ongoing situation at
work that really started to get under my skin and I struggled
to manage. The coping strategies I had used up to that point
just weren’t cutting it this time. I was destabilised, devoid of all
my condence and drive. I would take everything personally,
often an innocuous moment would send me into a spiral. So
began sleepless nights. Constant negativity. Discomfort. Try as
I might to talk myself out of it, anxiety is a peculiar thing. While
you may try to reassure yourself over and over, there you are
at11pm in a fullbody shudder. I tried to keep this anxiety hidden
in the background, but inside it felt like an ever-present bee that
buzzed around and around in my head.
I decided I needed to nd something outside of work to take
my mind o matters. Surely yoga was the answer. I made it to
a yoga class, once. There I was, lying down in the back corner,
trying to stay as small and unnoticeable as possible. Surrounded
by crop tops and ashy lycra outts,my tights were splattered
with dried paint from re-doing the kitchen earlier that month
and my baggy, once-white T-shirt was stained from cooking
experiments. I told myself I was ready to relax. The teacher
told us, in her softest and most reassuring voice, to ‘let go’, to
‘surrender’. And I did … for about three seconds, before the
stream of thoughts began: What am I doing here? Look at that
girl’s stomach. My wrists hurt. Do they have to talk so loudly
outside? I cannot believe she said that today! How am Isupposed
to relax when all this is happening? What should Imake for
dinner? Is it going to rain tomorrow?
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