1: How to Totally Fail and Yet Succeed

Begin by having an idea. Scratch. Begin with emptiness. Begin with being 32. Begin by living in the suburbs. Begin with a child. And a husband. Begin by having everything that feels like nothing. Begin by having lost your way. Begin by wanting. Begin by wanting to want.

Begin with an idea.

365 days of living the good life. 365 moments that make you wake up. 365 moments that make you feel alive.

The first idea is derivative. You don't realize it until you're in the car on the way home from the expensive gourmet grocery store where you have just purchased 42 dollars worth of groceries to make a slow cooked ragu. Plump, ripe tomatoes. Fancy EVOO in a bottle so pretty it seems a shame to throw it away. Cuts of meats the butcher in his white coat has to explain to you wrapped neatly in brown paper and actually tied with a string. Actually!



You think this will be a good way to begin your project. Slow cooking. It's all the rage. People throw parties for just this purpose. It's true. You read about in the newspaper.

You'll spend the afternoon cooking a delicious ragu with meatballs and pasta. How relaxing! How charming! Your son will help! You're not even Italian!

The reality. Well, begin with the reality.

You have to bribe your son with chocolate gummy bears to keep him quiet in the store. He manages to worm his way out of the stroller and makes a mad dash for the wine section. Heavy! Breakable! Bottles! You catch him just in time. Phew!

You realize that you're 99% certain your brilliant idea came from a woman's magazine you read just days ago. C'est la vie to the creative spirit! You're a hack!

3 back to back episodes of Mickey Mouse Clubhouse rot your son's brain but keep him quiet enough for you to chop 3 1/2 pounds of tomatoes. (Why didn't you buy the canned tomatoes???)



Your pot is too small. Your ragu runneth over.

One word. Dishes.

Finally, the ragu is barely contained in it's pot. Your son has been fed and hustled off for his afternoon nap pouting "More Mi Mo! More Mi Mo!" all the way. You realize that you have had no lunch yourself, and after having cooked for the last two hours have no desire to touch one more kitchen utensil unless it's a knife you can use to cut up the damn slow cooking article that inspired this debacle in the first place. You are dejected. A failure and you've barely even begun!

Then it calls to you from the countertop. So delicious. So brown and rich and chocolately. Chocolate Babka straight from 2nd Avenue Deli in NYC. Bought just yesterday and stowed lovingly in your suitcase all the way home from airport to airport, nestled snugly between Macy's boots and an FAO Schwartz puzzle for your son.



And now it's quiet. And the babka is whispering your name.

Eat.

Try this at home:
What have you failed at, and ultimately been happy about that failure?