How far are you willing to go to get what you want?
It’s a question that’s difficult to answer honestly, even to yourself… perhaps especially then, in that secret place where you can be completely and totally honest with your own thoughts. Maybe because, first and foremost, you have to actually know what you want.
So let’s start with another question.
What do you want?
Now we’re getting somewhere.
Here’s the thing. And I’ll stop generalizing, because to be fair, I don’t know what you think. I don’t know the sorts of worries that keep you up at night, wondering. Maybe that’s just me. All I know is that it’s very, very easy, with the repetitive nature of the day-to-day, to distract myself enough with things that have to get done to be blinded to what I really want to do. To forget what my real goals are. To forget to even make real goals at all. To cruise… to lie to myself. To protect myself from the uncertainty that surrounds pretty much every decision I make, because with every decision, another door closes. Another possibility disappears.
Every year that I remain in France is another year that I’m not in the States. Every year that I spend in school is another year that I’m not part of the work force. I’m not saying that I have regrets or even that I would change anything; it’s just a truth of the life I’ve chosen, a fact that I’ve been considering a lot recently, because it’s that time again: the time when I consider. The time when I force myself to face the truth that I hide from most days, because it’s too scary to be real: I’m driving through a soup of fog, and all I can see is the six inches of road ahead of me. I don’t really know what I’m doing, and all I can do is hold my breath, step on the gas, and keep driving.
I’m so, so thankful for the things that I’ve seen, for the life I’ve had the chance to live so far, thanks to the decisions I’ve made and, let’s be frank here, the choices that have been made on my behalf. It’s not everyone’s cup of tea, the constant worrying that comes along with living a slightly unconventional existence, but there are definitely things that make it worth it. I became fast friends with a girl I recently made in London, and less than 48 hours after seeing her for the first time, she came to Paris, and we traipsed around for a few days. She reminded me of how incredible the luck I’ve had has been, telling me, as though somehow she knew I needed to hear it, “If you ever forget how amazing this is, just know. It is.”
It’s not easy, but it’s worth it, despite the uncertainty, despite the red tape. And perhaps… thanks to the red tape and those moments of pause it causes. For the sake of metaphorical continuity, let’s call them rest stops: those automatic jolts that happens pretty much every year, reminding me that I still have to make the choice to continue living this reality. That the power is in my hands. Every year, I have to renew my visa, to sign another apartment lease, to go back to school, to keep trying to stay, to keep making this real. I can’t cruise for long; the kind of life I’ve chosen doesn’t allow it. And so, every year, I have to ask myself:
What do I want?
While I’m pleased with the genuine honesty of these rest stops — as un-restful as they are–, sometimes I’d rather settle into the comfort of forgetting, as opposed of the stark reality of The Big Picture. Because quite honestly, ever since graduating college, The Big Picture has been blurry, and I’m starting to realize that it’s never going to be as crisp and clear as it was when I was sixteen. I think that’s OK, but it still begs the question.
What do I want?
It’s hard to rewind, to see the world the way that I did when I was a teenager, when I was in Canada, when I had just arrived in Paris. Are my dreams the same as they were then? Am I still the same person I was then? Do the things I wanted make sense now? Do I want them anymore? Sometimes it feels as though the choice isn’t mine anymore. I’ve been living my way for so long that I’m not sure I would know how to do it any other way. Or that I would want to. Maybe I would.
The constant debate, the chatter back and forth between Me and Myself. Once I decide, I’m fairly certain I’d do most anything to get what I want… It’s the “What?” I haven’t quite figured out yet.
Luckily, I’m not at risk for forgetting it’s still a question. Perhaps that — of all things — is the highlight of living like this. Not Paris, though it’s incredible. Not the luxury of waking up every day and deciding whether I’m going to work in my pajamas, go to the market, do research in the library or have a Doctor Who marathon. But the forced wake-up calls that remind me that I’m still the one calling the shots. I’m still the one making the choices. I’m still the one who has to decide what I want and just how far I’m willing to go to have it.
Because of the wide variety of twists and turns my life has taken, I’ve gotten to a place where I can narrate times based on location. This dish is typical of Canada, which was once my home. I made it for the Country Boy; he was quite pleased. I could have used the powdered gravy that, for some reason, French people find acceptable, but I decided to go all out and make homemade beef gravy. Which meant that, in order to make poutine, I had to make an entire pot of beef stew. But I knew what I wanted, and I’ll go that far for good gravy… I hope you will too.
Poutine (recipe originally published at Flipkey)
2 lb. potatoes
2 Tbsp. olive oil
2 tsp. salt
1 1/2 cup beef gravy (use your favorite, or mine — recipe follows [or you could steal some gravy from the stew recipe I posted the other day])
1 cup cheese curds (if you don’t have cheese curds near you, use cubes of cheddar cheese)
Preheat the oven to 400 degrees F.
Slice the potatoes into fries. Toss in a baking dish with olive oil and salt. Roast 1 hour total, tossing once or twice to ensure even browning.
Meanwhile, heat the gravy in a saucepan until warm. When the fries are cooked, place them in your serving dish of choice and pour gravy over them. Sprinkle with the cheese curds and cover with another plate or pot lid, about 5 minutes or until the cheese melts.
Beef Gravy (and Beef Stew)
2 onions, thinly sliced
1 Tbsp. butter
2-3 tsp. vegetable oil, if needed
2 pounds beef stew meat, cut in chunks
salt, to taste
3 cups hot water, plus more, as needed
1 Tbsp. flour
Heat the butter and onions together in a heavy-bottomed Dutch oven over low heat. Cover and allow to caramelize over about 20-30 minutes, stirring frequently until the onions are dark brown and sweet.
Remove the onions to a bowl. Add vegetable oil if needed and turn the heat up to high. Salt the beef generously and add in one layer to the pot. Sear the beef chunks on all sides, cooking in two batches, if needed. When the beef is browned, add it all to the pot along with the onions and the hot water. Reduce heat to low and cover. Cook 3-4 hours, until the beef is fall-apart tender. Add more water over the course of cooking as needed.
Reserve 1 1/2 cup of gravy; the rest goes with the stew. Enjoy it another day. Combine a tablespoon of gravy with the flour in a small saucepan, whisking to thicken. Add the rest of the gravy slowly, whisking continuously, until you have a thickened gravy.