Finding Solace in Cooking and Finding My Ikigai
“May you live long enough to know why you were born.” Cherokee birth blessing.
I recently came across the word ikigai when I picked up a book about Japanese living on a Blue Zone island with said word in its title. Blue Zone is a place with numerous centenarians. Ikigai means purpose of life or “raison d’être”, and it is what everybody looks for in order to be truly happy throughout their life, according to concepts of logotherapy detailed by Victor Frankl. It is what one’s good at, one can fully immerse themselves in, and can, of course, make profit from.
I’ve always wanted to find what it is that would make me happy career wise. Is it going back to college? Is it making ceramics in my home? Is it teaching (something I’ve done for two years and led me to a physical and mental burnout)? Is it knitting and selling sweaters? I never quite figured out what it is that makes me happy, what my ikigai is.
Until I came across this book.
In November, when I was grieving the loss of my grandfather, I found solace in obsessive cooking. While everybody around me sobbed and cried, all I did was cook for them. I never understood why, but it was always in the back of my mind. The question of: why was it that this is what I did to console myself and others around me? Why was the kitchen the first place I ran to for refuge?
Fast forward to February when I lost my father-in-law, and all I wanted to do was lock myself in the kitchen and cook different types of meals I’ve never cooked before, for my husband. I still didn’t understand why. I assumed that I simply wanted to make it better, any way I can. I’m certain that was part of it. But still…something was amiss.
Recently, I was talking to my husband about the flow state. We had moments where we frankly just wanted to talk about anything besides loss. And he pointed out to me that the only time he saw me in an absolute flow state, and fully concentrated on the task at hand, was when I was cooking.
I spent long periods of time chasing the flow state, as studies showed that it was very beneficial for people with anxiety disorders. I chased it by knitting, making ceramics, painting and coloring. I was convinced I would never find it. I had tried all recommended activities to achieve it and I failed. Yet, apparently, I had found it elsewhere and I wasn’t even aware.
After my conversation with my husband, I spent the following days thinking about moments where I was so enveloped in the moment while following a recipe or coming up with one of my own. I thought about moments when I escaped to the kitchen to create, when everything around me was overwhelming.
During the early grieving days following my grandfather’s passing, my aunts and uncles surrounded my mother and never bothered to ask how I felt about losing my best friend. People’s emotions had obscured the space and their opinions about where and how the funeral should happen were suffocating me. So I ran. I ran to the kitchen.
There was a great amount of food for everyone who wanted to come by and share their condolences at my mother’s house - food I had cooked - but that didn’t stop me. The kitchen was the only place I wanted to be, the only place I wanted to escape to, and the only place I could catch my breath.
My pondering had brought me to this conclusion: could this be ma raison d'être? Could this be my ikigai? It’s what I’m good at, an activity I can lose myself in, and something profitable. But, there’s still another question. Would I hate it if I made it my career?
I’m a reader, a researcher, a take-your-time-and-read-all-about-it kind of person. I read books from chefs, I read testimonies from people who made their love of cooking their career, I watched short documentaries. I did it all. The only thing left to do is put it all to test.
I started cooking extravagant meals. I began putting in the extra effort for the presentation. I began experimenting with foreign and intimidating recipes. Knowing myself and my history, I assumed I would give up on this when it got too hard. Just like I did with knitting and ceramics, hoping one of them was my ikigai. But I didn’t. I never got bored, I never got tired - not even when my legs went numb and my lower back cramped. I kept going. I kept challenging myself. And I loved every minute of it.
I cracked it. Cooking! Could it be?
This could be it, friends.
My heart flutters every time I witness a creation of mine come to life. I’ve always thought of chefs as celestial beings, with their silken motions and arduous focus. I never understood how somebody can surrender to a moment with such ease. Until, I witnessed my own unforced abandon in the kitchen.
Maybe this is it. The silver-lining from loss. If there’s ever one.
So happy to read this and happy for you ❤️