This article originally appeared in the September 2016 issue of SELF.
A little over a year ago, I finished my first cookbook as a solo author.
I’ve been in love with cookbooks my whole life and have coauthored a number of them.
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In that singular moment, it was so clear how much had come before it.
Instead, something unexpected happened: nothing.
The book was off my desk, but I wasn’t overjoyed.
I felt restless, yet low.
I’d set my alarm for 7 a.m. every day with the goal of starting a new book proposal.
But after coffee, I’d find myself on the couch until lunchtime, flicking through Instagram.
I had no desire to do anything.
Accomplishment has long been a driver for me.
I lacked confidence in both of those spheres but still had a strong desire to match his achievements.
So I tried to excel at anything he wasn’t interested in.
More often, my love of accomplishment kept me from enjoying the accomplishment itself.
When I graduated from college I was selected to give a speech at our commencement.
I remember starting it, then sitting back down after.
The middle is a blur of wobbly hands and adrenaline.
What I really missed was having the speech on the horizon.
I needed a new destination on the map.
With school done, my ambition found a fresh focus: the food world.
It was a natural fit.
And I have loved to cook since before I can even remember.
“Some little girls had dollhousesyou had our kitchen,” she told me.
I wrote out a grocery list and a timetable for the evening.
My father obligingly put on his tuxedo.
(They were made with a slice of white bread on one side and wheat on the other.
I have always loved details.)
That day, I felt like the time put into the party matched all of the compliments I received.
It became clear that cooking was a way not only to gather people but to be thanked and applauded.
I started making the full Thanksgiving meal for my family when I was 12.
In the years after college, I became a private chef.
I cooked many important meals that required a dexterous combination of planning and adaptability.
But frequently, I felt down after leaving the kitchen.
This patternan anxious, race-to-the-finish-line high followed by an empty, listless lowwent on for years.
(I was also working on other people’s cookbooks, and my days brimmed with deadlines.)
Intellectually, I understood that I needed something else, something more personally fulfilling.
But I couldn’t seem to embrace it.
Then the idea for my first book struck me.
With hundreds of recipes roaming around in my head, I got to work.
The rhythm of creating each chapter energized me.
I’d assemble the day’s groceries and test a few recipes in my kitchen.
Then wash mountains of dishes, then test again and again.
Creating recipes is very different from cooking.
Why is each ingredient there?
The satisfaction was immense.
And then it was over.
I had done the thing I had always wanted to do.
Now I had no idea what to do next.
I thought I should just give in and relax.
But while I was exhausted, I also felt allergic to relaxation.
Have you ever been so tired that you have trouble falling asleep?
That’s what I felt.
A couple of weeks later, I was ready to stop feeling stuck.
Not every single achievement has to be a huge (or personal) accomplishment.
You would think that someone who wrote a book calledSmall Victorieswouldn’t have such a difficult time with this.
The irony is not lost on me.
So I took on some writing work for projects that weren’t my own.
I got my mind and body in better shape than either of them had been in a long time.
If I didn’t let it heal properly, running again might not ever be an option.
And would you believe what happened recently?
I found myself awake in the middle of the night, writing an outline for my next book.
My thumbs couldn’t keep up with everything I was trying to punch in on my phone.
So I got out of bed and turned on the computer in my office.
I’m excited about this idea; my switch is back on, and the light is bright.
Still, I’m not in any kind of rush.
I’m working on it along with a few other projects, in between my treasured dog walks.
This full issue is available August 9 on national newsstands.
Photo Credit: Getty Images
