At my table
In recent weeks, the isolation restrictions have eased here in Australia. This has meant that I’ve had the opportunity to do what I love to do—entertain! Or in other words, cook and talk! And thank goodness for that, I’ve been cooking a lot and not been able to share the table with people. And being the chronic over-caterer I am, my fridge, freezer and let’s be honest—my belly has been stuffed to the brim!
In our current, highly-charged climate I find myself more desperate to sit with people at my table. Storytelling is deep in my bones, but I love to hear other people’s stories and perspectives all the more. The byproduct of which helps me to broaden my mind and my worldview. It helps me grow in empathy, in grace and can challenge my thoughts, beliefs and behaviours. Oh and let’s be real—it gives me ideas for my writing...
The last few months of challenges that have shaken the world, have made me realise that social media is not the optimum place for dialogue. I recognise it’s a point of connection and conversation, but it has its limitations. We were made to connect and communicate face-to-face, human-to-human. And my experience with working from home is testament to that. Communication has been a lot harder by videocall—it requires more energy, it’s more formal and to be honest it’s exhausting. One of the biggest factors in this challenge is that although I see you, I cannot completely feel your presence.
Recently, I was asked to pre-record two talks for a youth conference overseas. A friend of mine helped me and together we turned my living room into a makeshift studio. My sofa was up-ended and squeezed in the doorway, my rug rolled up and I piled a big stack of cookbooks on top of my coffee table to form a dodgy lectern! The end result on frame was great, my lounge however, looked like a tornado had hit! Anyways, I’m digressing...the point is—I talked to a camera for an hour. I wove stories together, trying to stay interesting, but I had zero connection with the people I was speaking to. I knew that it was a part of the deal, but you know what, I missed people, I missed them terribly. And I had no idea if I was truly connecting with the beautiful people on the other side of the camera.
This is why my dining table is so important to me. I want to experience what it’s like to be around you. I don’t just want to see you through a screen, I want to feel your presence. I want to hear you. I want to sit beside you in the sadness and pain. I want to share a table with you in celebration and success. And I want to be able to spend time listening, understanding and hearing about you when you’re at my table. I want to share in the highs, the lows and the emotion of a life lived on this planet. I’m OK if we don’t agree on a matter, but I’d rather be able to look you in the eyes and feel your presence as we uncover our differences. There is no one else in the world like you, we were created to be different. And that right there is the splendour of humanity. Though the internet and social media provide platforms for sharing, there is nothing more divine, more grounding, more human than a meal, than conversation—shared at a table.
