the kitchen item that changed my life

This is the story of how a cast iron skillet changed my life.

It's quite a ramble, with the occasional tangent, so I recommend sitting somewhere comfortable with a good beverage. That's why I'm sending it on a Sunday.

I share this because it's easy to be disheartened, especially right now. In my experience, though, we take far too many small things for granted. The power of a smile, the difference that a phone call makes, the impact of a tough but compassionate conversation. The cumulative effect of many people making intentional choices on any scale. It's happening, y'all, even as you witness people who don't care.

10 years ago this weekend I moved. It was notable because I was leaving a housemate situation and moving into my own apartment. I was really excited because I wanted to live alone again, and I was grateful that I earned enough money (barely) to afford a (cheap, small, basic) place for myself.

10 years ago this weekend I moved. I chose this weekend because the holiday is around the end of the school year, which meant my work slowed down. During the semester, I usually worked 7, sometimes 6, days per week. Generally less than 1 day off per month.

A long weekend meant an extra day off work, which I knew I needed for this move. The holiday also gave me a free truck, because a friend went out of town. He gave me his car key, and I went to his place, where I left my car and took his truck, which I used all weekend. I had help the first day, moving the few pieces of furniture. They required a few trips between the current and new places; each round trip took an hour. When the furniture was done, I did one last trip late at night to gather essentials to sleep in my new apartment, as my bed was there.

I did the rest of the move on my own, the rest of the weekend. Everything was already packed, but doing it alone takes a WHILE. I'm a fairly strong person, but in this case I was impeded by my height. Though only a few boxes were truly heavy, I couldn't stack more than 2, in order not to impede my vision. I didn't have anyone to warn me of accidents, so I was wary of limited sight lines. So even though I could have carried 3 boxes at a time, I didn't exceed 2. That adds up, I promise you.

As mentioned, each round trip was an hour. I carried boxes down a few stairs to load them on the truck. Loading the truck took at least half an hour. Unloading was longer, because my new place had more stairs. At the apartment, I carried boxes down a small staircase, then up more stairs to my second floor apartment.  Again and again and again. I did this as many trips as possible until after sunset, by which time I was so tired I could have hurt myself.

Then I got up the next morning and did it again. All day, back and forth, stairs down and stairs down and stairs up. By the end of the second day of solo moving, I was fully moved out of my former home. Not unpacked in my new place, but at last done with transporting and carrying.

The final day of the holiday, I returned the truck and went home in my vehicle. I spent the rest of the day unpacking—I had to return to full-time work the next morning. I also took frequent stretch breaks, as my body, especially my back, was very sore. At that time, I was only 3 years after being hit by a car, as a pedestrian. My back wasn't nearly as healed as it is now.

I know I haven't mentioned the cast iron skillet yet. But I wanted to explain how I came purchase it, and the context of what changed.

Moving is a great way to evaluate your stuff, purge the things you don't want—KonMari explains it more eloquently, I'm sure. Anyway, as I unpacked my things, I was reminded of all the stories behind how I got them. When I unpacked the kitchen, I was reminded that nearly all of it, save a couple glasses and bowls, were hand-me-downs and thrift store purchases. I looked at my cheap metal skillet that was a thrift store score.

In that moment, I decided to buy myself a cast iron skillet. This impulse is pretty rare for me; I try to buy new as infrequently as possible. Even rarer then, as I was working as a teacher, in various places. Which, in this country, means I made crap money. Obviously.

Tangent moment—by the time I left teaching (I call it my retirement), a few years after this story, I'd been teaching in some capacity for 20+ years. More than half my life, at the time. In all those years, I was never adequately compensated for my work. I'll write that again, because it's important: I WAS NEVER ADEQUATELY COMPENSATED FOR MY WORK.
That doesn't mean that I didn't make enough money to live comfortably. I did, sometimes. But I did NOT make money that reflected the intellect, energy, maturity, wisdom, communication, patience, and zillion other skills teachers need in order to be effective.
I mention this because we're at a crucible moment, where we can work and vote and speak out for the change we want to be and see in the world. If you believe in youth, if you value children, but you don't think that working conditions (including pay) for teachers are a mess (I'll say that instead of saltier language)... This is a great time to educate yourself and advocate for something that supports children, teachers, education, and ultimately our world for the better. Crap education is a huge reason we're in the current situation.
Tangent over, save that I need to mention 1 exception to inadequate compensation for my teaching. One job paid me well for my work: when I taught (mostly) junior-high school in Japan.

A cast iron skillet had always been a fantasy, luxury purchase—perhaps because I'd never lived in a home that had one. But I'd always wanted to cook in one. So I promised myself I would, in my new home, my new decade, making a new life for myself.

That decision, in and of itself, is not actually that momentous. But the feeling of purchasing something for myself, brand new, not out of necessity, but simply because I wanted something a bit nicer—that feeling was a revelation, y'all. Totally unfamiliar. I think what KonMari would call sparking joy. (I think she was still working at temples while I was living in Japan.)

Now we can fast forward. What I couldn't know at the time, what's only become clear because the 10 year mark was approaching, was that the skillet cracked a dam in my beliefs. The trickle started in the kitchen. After a couple months of cooking as much as possible with the cast iron skillet, I bought a Dutch oven. It felt indulgent, but was much easier to justify.

Then the stream flowed, as I was willing to do other things that made me happier, simply because I now believed I deserved things I'd always considered not to be necessities. I began to address the friends, co-workers, and other people in my life who didn't respect my boundaries. This was also a revelation. I knew other people did that, but I'd never been so courageous. But I'd already been treating myself better, so it wasn't as much of a leap.

The stream widened, as I stopped scope creep at work. No more—I refused taking on extra tasks for free; I advocated for being paid more. For years I'd allowed it, but as I became accustomed to believing that my boundaries should be respected, it wasn't a big shift. 

The river got deeper, as I stopped going to social events that didn't excite me. I always used to feel obligated or pressured, but I'd become an advocate for my boundaries, time, and effort. Same thing with loser guys. I'd become much more content with myself, believing in my worth and valuing myself. It wasn't a big jump to decline men I knew would waste my time.

During these years, I fortunately found a few classes and mentors who taught some essential wisdom and practices that I still use and teach (I'm never really gonna retire all the way) today. I finally believed that I was capable of using tarot decks. If you'd told me then that I'd eventually make a deck, I wouldn't have believed it. But now it seems completely natural.

I also started devoting my time to things that mattered to me. I wrote more. I played more music. I did more service work. Life became beauty instead of a slog.

I don't know a single point the floodgates proverbially burst; I can't pinpoint the shift from small but steady trickling to flooding. My retirement from teaching was certainly a big moment of advocating for myself, my well-being, my happiness. At the time, though, I was too stressed about money and too exhausted and too sad to see it that way.

Last year, I left a stressful work situation that had become toxic and abusive for me in the final few years. Leaving that has made me feel like I've spent much of my life stressed out and depleted. I've been parched for nourishment and desperate for inspiration.

And yet, I see that all the while I've been next to a giant, beautiful river: bountiful, clear, abundant. I was just so stressed and maxed out that I'd created a big janky mess to clog the current. But now that the river runs freely, I see this channel to source as something that's always present. I need to make myself available to drink deeply.

I look back at the last 10 years, and the only thing I'd change is having more support. I'm grateful for my grit and my resilience, but I also know that things would have moved more easily and swiftly had I had more mentors and guides. I want to live in a world where people are confident in their intuition, radiating their brilliance, and uplifting each other. I see how I've done these things, and of course continue to refine them. That's moved me to make myself available.

(Another tangent—I see a lot of shallow offerings. I've seen some of the content, y'all, and it's unfortunate that the content isn't nearly as impressive as the IG feeds. That's a harsh thing to say, but it's true. Though I do appreciate that more people are focused on developing intuition, building resilience, strengthening communication, and such. So on the whole, values are shifted in a powerful way.)

If you're struggling, I relate. I support you. If you're feeling overwhelmed, I encourage you to do the thing that's available, however small or insignificant it might seem. Then do the next one. And the next one. You might not know the impact or significance for a long time, so just go ahead and do the thing without knowing. Trust your intuition, even when it doesn't make sense. Find a way, even if it's scary. You might not know the why for a while, or ever. Do it anyway.

Know that I believe in you and I'm encouraging you. If you want validation, if you want to commiserate, feel free to reply. I read all your emails; they help me too!

If you think any of my offerings—readings, intuitive dives, mentorship—can help you or people you know, please connect. Ask questions if you're not sure. We can make this happen. I would love to support you finding your equivalent of a cast iron skillet, the piece that nudges so many other things into alignment and transcendence.

10 years ago this weekend I moved. I had no way of knowing what life would be like, a decade later. But I'm grateful, and I remain committed to sharing my gifts and making a healthier, more beautiful world. I'm still drinking deeply. I hope you do too.

In the current with you,
S.


—
she / they
Siderealchemy