Mealtimes at our home had settled into
an unadventurous routine of repetitive menus – again! We felt trapped in a
cycle of reproducing familiar recipes just because it is easier than trying new
ones and, by so doing, that we were narrowing our life experiences instead of expanding
them. So, in a burst of enthusiasm for adventurous diversification, we decided to
reboot our diet. I suggested we start by taking the spices out of the cupboard (out
of sight, out of mind) and placing them on display next to the hob to encourage
their use and inspire new ideas. However, the plan fell apart when, seeing our
newly acquired spice rack on display, we concluded that it looked and felt
messy, reminiscent of student accommodation, and that we were happier with our previously
uncluttered theme, which we apply not just to visual aesthetics, but to life in
general.
So, with the now redundant spice rack
destined for the charity shop and our resolve to vary the menu having suffered
a setback, it seems to me there is a wider issue to address. By not wanting the
kitchen (or any other room, for that matter) to look untidy, are we being too
restrictive? Are we on course for an inevitable funnelling down of ideas,
thoughts and activities? Will we end up refining our lifestyle to the point
where change is shunned, habits become entrenched and creativity becomes
impossibly stifled? I wouldn’t say that I lie awake worrying about all this,
but I don’t want to end up with a mind that has closed its door to novelty for
the sake of convenience. I do aspire to leave the door ajar.
So, should I be leading a leading a
messier life as, it is said, creative people characteristically do? Would it be
a good idea to cultivate an untidy workstation, a disorganised household, chaotic
admin and erratic personal relationships? Cliché has it that these are
prerequisites for freeing the imagination from locked-in behavioural patterns that
constrict the association of ideas and reduce the likelihood of any serendipitous
spark. It’s an enticing stereotype but I
don’t know of any statistical proof to support it.
Besides, habitual behaviour has its benefits.
Knowing precisely where to find your socks, outfit and breakfast stuff helps to
streamline your activities. Routines help you save time and make the most of the
day, enabling you to stick to the tight schedule you drew up in your head, or
jotted on post-its. It’s efficient, in the same way that just-in-time
manufacturing is. Surely one benefit of this is that you can free up space for
experimentation and creative activity by efficiently taking care of all the
other stuff. Unless, that is, you are the kind of person who bothers more about
the other stuff than what the other stuff serves.
Recently, while taking an habitual
short-cut through a department store, I was accosted by a Japanese lady who
offered me a sample from her newly established, in-store sushi bar. I saw it as
an opportunity to rekindle a long extinct familiarity with Japanese cuisine and
it fitted well with my resolution. She proffered a choice of sushi and I asked
what they were. I could not follow her answers, as her accent was heavy and the
ingredients were not all identifiable, but I chose one and enjoyed it anyway.
“Delicious,” I said and looked around for a napkin for my sticky fingers (no chopsticks
had been made available). There were none, so I dipped my fingers into what I
assumed was a finger bowl – a black dish next to the sushi. The lady looked
horrified as she said, in words that I did understand – “That soy
sauce!”
This business of diversifying is not
without hazard.
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