At the time, I myself was sitting in a cubicle, half in my body, half outside of it--working on theatre projects, writing plays at my computer. Also, I was reading blogs, many of them, and after beginning with Julie Powell's, most of them were about food.
Tonight I watched the movie version of Julie Powell's food epiphany, how Julia Child--and writing about it--pulled her out from under the metaphorical waves as she (metaphorically) drowned. It gave me the opportunity to think about the time that's passed since I read her blog, and since I started mine.
I was on the heels of a break up with a boy, and on the verge of a break up with my life as I knew it. Since then a lot has changed: I am grateful for what I have figured out since then, and a bit baffled by the things I still haven't.
For Julie and for Julia both, the journey was one in which they discovered the joy they find in food--and me, too, I suppose. Why do I cook? At the end of an exhausting Avant Garde Restaurant run, 330 meals later, that joy is the only reason that has any legs.
In the meantime, my blog hasn't landed me a book deal, but it did help me find my food voice, and maybe helped build the bridge for me from where I was, to where I was headed.