A watched pot seems like it’ll never boil.
But, alas, it will also never boil over.
Relationships are cauldrons full of simmering concoctions. Once the heat is on, chemical changes are sure to occur, and you are solely responsible for your role in that interplay.
Imagine you’re in your kitchen alone.
You lift a heavy, scalding pot full of boiling water and rotini off the stove. As you begin to carry it by its handles, you feel the searing pain of excess heat enter your fingers. You realize that you have made a mistake. You shouldn’t have picked up the pot, but now you’re holding it, and it’s about to burn you.
What do you do?
Do you simply set the pot back down? Do you scream out in pain and drop the whole thing on the ground, recklessly splashing boiled water everywhere? Or do you keep carrying the too-hot pot across the room to the sink, fulfilling your culinary destiny?
A stay-at-home dad entertaining his rambunctious toddler at the thrift store the other day told us fellow patrons, “I never notice how fast he’s growing because I’m with him every day.”
A watched pot may seem like it’s never going to boil, but let’s face it: it always does. No matter who’s watching, or how closely. Nature has its way. The elements do their thing. What were once disparate ingredients become kindred.
Parents, partners – pot watchers – who see our loved ones all the time don’t often pick up on these changes in the moment. We’re keeping such a close eye on that pot, lest it burn, that we may fail to witness the quiet beauty in observing its contents as they slowly transform. When it comes time to dish out the meal, we may hardly recognize the results – or truly appreciate them.
The pumpkin pasta that I made for lunch the other day turned out to be delicious because I watched the pot, but not too carefully. I turned my back on it just often enough to chop the garlic and blend the sauce, never more than a step away.
I do wish I’d tested the handles before committing to walking the thing across my kitchen, though.
That one’s on me.
