My absolute favorite thing to cook with is the 10″ Teflon coated frying pan I picked up at a discount store years ago. I believe it was a whopping $8.99. Not exactly state of the art, but budget friendly for a relatively new college grad. My pan and I have been together for about 12 years now. I’d confess it’s one of my longest lasting friendships, but that’s a sob story for another blog.
Back to my pan. A lot has happened to it since our first meeting. His shiny silver bottom is now brown and dingy. The Teflon is decorated with burner ring marks and a few shallow scratches. The handle wiggles a bit, but shows no signs of letting go just yet. All of these imperfections make me love it all the more. They are battle scars of our time together. At our best, we were a sizzling success. At our worst, charred remains of our good intentions were on an express flight to the Hefty bag.
To be honest, my pan isn’t the only thing to have changed in the past decade. My bottom isn’t what it used to be either. My brown hair is now streaked with silver. I have shallow (okay deep) scratches in what used to be the nice flat surface of my face. This is where the pan envy comes in to the equation. All of these marks of time do little to add to my appeal. I don’t look at these scuffs with the same warmth as the blemishes on my pan. Why is that? Why do I feel I have to look brand new after 12 years? My pan is getting hotter and hotter. Me, not so much.
Is it possible I could take a lesson from kitchen gear? Ah, to be able to look at my life’s markings as a sign of a adventure and accomplishment. Wouldn’t it be great to be able to revel in the stories behind the stains and the scars instead throwing money and effort into covering them up? Restoring my pan is completely out of the question. It wouldn’t be special to me anymore. It would just look like every other pan hanging on the hook at Target. Who wants that?
So true. We might all be a bit happier if we could muster the strength to accept our physical selves. Too bad the world at large tends to judge on appearance.
It almost becomes a “which comes first, the chicken or the egg” scenerio in my mind. Does our own judgment of ourselves on appearance give the world permission to do the same? Or, does the message of the masses cause us to look at ourselves in a less favorable light? Part of me believes the message of the masses can only impact the ones who have invited/allowed the criticism to sink in.
It really is strange how happy we are with scrappy inanimate objects, yet how perfect we expect humans to be. We like greasy spoon restaurants, old sweatshirts worn thin and porch swings that squeak when you rock. All show character and history. The same qualities in a person aren’t embraced at all. Not that I’m implying I’d want greasy to be acceptable.