One more check in the column of “tried that, and it’s harder than it looks.”

I love to cook and enjoy following several food blogs. My favorite in Molly Yeh, an adorable asian-jewish Juilliard trained percussionist turned North Dakota farmer. I marvel at the beauty of her photographs. The finished products are gorgeous, though I’m well aware they have been “styled” to be stunning. But even the intermediate stages of her recipes are often quite beautiful. For example: an undistinguished pile of flour upon a marble countertop, a lemon lurking in the margin of the picture.

There are so many food bloggers, and some that I follow are incredibly prolific. Like all things abundantly found and passively enjoyed, I have taken these gems somewhat for granted. I’ve never really consciously thought: “is it hard work to maintain a food blog?” I consumed them without thinking much about these lovely sites.

Here is what I recently learned: it’s a lot more work to manage a food blog (or any regularly tended creative effort) than it appears. How did this become clear to me? Over the last 3 months I’ve developed a strong affinity for black licorice (Twizzlers are not licorice). During the recent string of holidays I thought I’d try my hand at making it myself. Could it be healthier? Could it be stronger in flavor? Might it be better? I was curious. I researched recipes. I found licorice is a whole world, like every other topic one investigates. There is actually a licorice.org site. I ordered the supplies. I made licorice last week.

Making candy is actually pretty scientific. When heated, sugar has weird, predictable properties all of which correlate with temperature. For example “soft ball” (235 degrees), when the molten caramel begins pulling away from the sides of the pan and cohering into, you guessed it, a “soft ball.” I found this progression so fascinating that I grabbed my phone and began taking pictures. When my licorice reached 240 degrees it pulled toward the middle and appeared to condense. I just had to record the moment, the drama, so I could review it and tell my friends about it. What was I thinking?

As the caramel soared toward 250 I dropped my brand new iPhone into the pan. It disappeared instantly. Panicking, I promptly grabbed it with my index finger and thumb. It was insanely hot, which didn’t even enter into my “plan” if you could call it that. I let go and it slipped beneath the surface again. Then I grabbed a set of tongs and a dishtowel and reeled that puppy in—it emerged entirely clad in amber colored lava.(see below) I quickly moved the whole glob to the sink and ran hot water over it all, prying the towel off the phone (to which it was fused with candy “glue”). I continued running hot water over the glob until most of the phone was visible. I popped it out of the case. Believe it or not, the phone worked.

I quickly removed the pan from the heat, added the licorice extract and flour, and turned the lump out onto a large sheet of parchment paper. It was truly delicious. It was definitely not worth badly burning two fingers. I am very grateful that my phone was miraculously unaffected. I was very glad I attempted to make licorice.

Why am I writing about this on a psychotherapy blog? Because there were dozens of life lessons contained in this experience. When we passively enjoy things, we rarely appreciate their complexity, their artfulness, or the hard work it took to create them. When we try to create things ourselves, we are introduced to the many hidden dimensions of the creative process. This doesn't just apply to artsy creative things (like the art of candy making or food blogging), but organizational and relational creations as well. For example we generally attend events without thinking about whose idea was this?, who chose the space?, who figured out the schedule and edited the content? When we attend a party, a conference, or just about anything else the effort and abilities of others generally made it possible. But do we take a moment to think “wow, someone planned this whole thing”?

Failing so gloriously at licorice made made me appreciate the fact that $3 can buy a bag of Australian black licorice. What a bargain! Photographing my folly gave me even more regard for Molly Yeh and her tribe of food bloggers. Beautiful creations, beautifully documented. These people are true professionals. Attempting something new keeps us young, prevents us from becoming rusty old curmudgeons rigidly set in our ways. When we were school children, we were forced to be generalists. The artistic kids were required to take gym, and the athletes were required to take art. But after high school, most of us become increasingly specialized. Now that’s certainly part of growing up, and an important part of earning a living. But there is a lot more to life than earning your living, or there should be. Being active beyond our comfort zone, continuing to create even after we’ve found our occupational and social niche, makes us appreciative of all the creations around us. Creating enough that one generates failed experiences is important as well. A triumph is great, but a failure is better for us and honestly, a funnier story.

Create in order to remain interested in life. Create to save money. Create to make it better. Create to make it personal. Create in order to figure something out. Create to contribute. Create to change things. Create to support others. Create to give back.

In place of create, we can substitute: Organize, Found, Plan, Make, Discover, and many other generative terms. We can’t all quilt, we can’t all write code, but we can all make try something.