We Didn’t Heal Today
But we found some beauty in the pain…
Yesterday was hard. Not the kind of hard that comes with a tidy explanation or a lesson waiting at the end of it. Just the kind that settles into your chest and makes everything feel heavier than it should.
I was at work when I realized I was done. Not done forever. Not giving up. Just done for the day. So I left.
I cried most of the drive home, and somewhere between work and my driveway, instinct took over. I didn't go inside. I got out of the car, still wearing my work clothes, grabbed Maple, and walked straight into the woods.
There is a tree back there that sits exactly center of all the other trees. I walked right up to that poor unsuspecting tree, wrapped my arms around him, put my face against his bark, and ugly cried. No warning. No Hey, do you have a few minutes? Just full-body, hold-on-to-something crying. And that's what I did. For about five minutes, I held onto a tree while everything I had been carrying came pouring out of me.
And when I opened my eyes. Nothing had changed. The problems were still there. The hurt was still there. I was still me, standing in the woods in my work clothes with a dog beside me in 95 degree heat at 80% humidity. But the world looked a little brighter. I could see the green again. I noticed the light coming through the trees. I could hear the woods around me. I could feel my feet underneath me. The pain hadn't disappeared. It just wasn't the only thing I could see anymore. And maybe sometimes that's enough.
Maple and I walked home and did something my hands know how to do. I cooked. There wasn't a grand plan. There were tomatoes and garlic and chicken and pasta. I roasted things. I scraped every browned, caramelized bit from the pan because obviously we aren't leaving that kind of glory behind. I tasted. I adjusted. I chopped fresh rosemary and pulled tiny thyme leaves from their stems.
And somewhere in all of that—between the smell of roasted garlic and tomatoes, the sound of a knife against the cutting board, and a sauce bubbling on the stove—I found another little piece of beauty. Cooking didn't fix anything either. But creating something with my hands gave them somewhere to put all that restless energy. They knew what to do even when the rest of me didn't. There is something deeply comforting about that. Take a few simple ingredients. Trust your hands. Make a few mistakes. Create something that wasn't there before. And then sit down and eat it with someone you love.
Maybe Healing Isn't Always the Assignment
I think sometimes we put too much pressure on ourselves to turn pain into progress. We want the breakthrough. The lesson. The moment where we understand why something happened and announce that we're stronger because of it. But some days aren't breakthrough days. Some days are just hard days. And maybe the goal isn't always to heal them. Maybe sometimes the goal is simply to notice that pain and beauty are capable of existing in the same day. You can cry until your face hurts and still notice sunlight through the trees. You can feel completely lost and still know the way home. You can hurt and still laugh at yourself for emotionally ambushing a tree. You can have absolutely no idea how to fix your life and still know exactly what to do with a handful of rosemary.
None of those things erase the pain. And they certainly don’t fix the problem. They aren't supposed to. They just remind us that the pain isn't everything.
So no, I didn't heal today… But I found some beauty in the pain. For today, that's enough.
And because apparently emotional upheaval sometimes produces really good pasta, the recipe that came out of this particular day is below. Sending love from my kitchen to yours.
FEVER DREAM PASTA ~ Serves 3-4
Roasted Tomato, Garlic & Chicken Pappardelle
A rustic pasta built from roasted tomatoes, garlic, fresh herbs and all the browned chicken goodness left in the pan. No complicated sauce required.
INGREDIENTS
10 medium to large vine-ripened tomatoes
8 large cloves garlic, peeled
Olive oil, for roasting
1 teaspoon fresh rosemary, finely chopped
3–4 sprigs fresh thyme
Salt, to taste
Freshly cracked black pepper, to taste
8 boneless, skinless chicken thighs
2 tablespoons butter
½ tablespoon Better Than Bouillon
2 packages pappardelle pasta Romano cheese, freshly grated, for serving
Flat-leaf Italian parsley, roughly chopped, for garnish
ROAST THE TOMATOES
Preheat the oven to 425°F.
Cut the tomatoes into thick wedges and place them in a roasting pan with the peeled garlic cloves, chopped rosemary and thyme. Drizzle generously with olive oil and season with salt and freshly cracked black pepper. Toss until well coated.
Roast for 25–35 minutes, until the tomatoes have softened and collapsed into themselves, with edges beginning to char and caramelize. The garlic should be tender and golden, and the bottom of the pan should be full of tomato juices, olive oil and roasted goodness. Don't be afraid of a little char here. That's flavor.
BROWN THE CHICKEN
While the tomatoes roast, season the chicken thighs generously with salt and cracked black pepper. Heat a large skillet over medium to medium-high heat. Sear the chicken thighs for about 5 minutes per side, until deeply browned and cooked through. Remove the chicken and set aside.
Do not clean the pan. All those browned bits left behind from the chicken are about to become part of the sauce.
MAKE THE SAUCE
When the tomatoes and garlic are finished roasting, carefully add the entire contents of the roasting pan—including all those juices—to the skillet used for the chicken. Add the Better Than Bouillon and 2 tablespoons butter. Reduce the heat to medium-low and simmer for about 15 minutes.
As everything cooks together, use a wooden spoon to gently smash the roasted tomatoes and garlic into the sauce. Don't worry about making it perfectly smooth. Texture is welcome here.
BRING IT TOGETHER
While the sauce simmers, cook the pappardelle according to the package directions in generously salted water. Before draining, reserve a little pasta water in case you'd like to loosen the sauce. Be sure to add a few tablespoons at a time.
Slice the chicken thighs and add them back to the tomato sauce just long enough to warm through. Spoon the roasted tomato and chicken sauce generously over the pappardelle—or toss everything together if that's more your style.
Finish with freshly grated Romano cheese, roughly chopped Italian parsley and another crack of black pepper. Serve immediately.
A GROUNDED KITCHEN NOTE
The sauce comes from letting simple things do what they do best: tomatoes collapse, garlic softens, chicken leaves goodness behind in the pan, and butter brings everything together.
Let it be rustic. Let some tomatoes stay chunky. Let the edges char. Sometimes dinner doesn't need to be perfect to be absolutely beautiful.
