A Life of Unfettered, Joyous Mediocrity.

I embarked on a solo endeavor to make my first latkes from scratch this weekend. I peeled the potatoes, grated them, chopped a bulbous white opinion into teensy pieces, drained the onion/potato mixture using a homegrown approach (think three-pound weight in a bowl, over a colander), mixed in the eggs, some gluten free flour, and seasonings, and then, hand formed the pancakes and cooked them in oil over a medium to high flame.

Mom, Sus, supplied me with words of guidance and caution as I started my latke adventure. Try the food chopper on the salsa setting if your hands get tired. Keep your knuckles away from the grater to avoid seasoning your potato delights with your blood. Don’t over salt, you can always add at the end, but there’s no removing. Try and get out as much water as is humanly possible. Nothing prevents a crispy latke like excess water in the mixture. Follow a recipe but also, just be yourself and improvise. Also, and this is the most important bit, don’t be discouraged if the first pancake is a little wonky. You were my first pancake and you turned out just fine.

I think I’ve talked about first pancake syndrome before on here, haven’t I? Same ingredients, same process, same love- different result. Not always. But sometimes. Mostly. Often. And we rationalize in all different ways. The pan wasn’t hot enough yet, or maybe the oil wasn’t sufficiently heated. Maybe that part of the mixture didn’t get everything. Could be some of the above, but most likely, it’s a little bit of everything. It doesn’t matter. You want to know why (maybe you know this already)? It tastes the same. I swear. Might be pale and strange but it tastes exactly the same.

So, I anticipated a bizarro first batch. I contemplated not putting more than one pancake in the pan for that first round, thinking maybe I’d avoid more than one silly latke. Then, I thought, fuck it, and threw five little dollops in the pan. Five. I went balls to the wall. You can’t know until you know, amiright?
And then, my first set of pancakes came out- well, delightfully normal looking. Evenly golden and a bit of crunch around the edge. It felt like a gift from the universe. Things have been weird, and you’ve felt upside down, so here’s a lovely batch of latkes to make the season right. Feels absurd writing that but also, perfectly on point.

Of course, then I started to think what I would have felt like if my latkes were a little less Pinterest-worthy. Was I adequately prepared? Would I have felt disappointed? Defeated? Tanked? Would I be apt to give up and hand the spatula over to Sus?

We know by now I’m not just talking about pancakes lovingly crafted with potatoes, right? Or maybe you didn’t, but I’m about to clarify.

A friend commented the other day that I’m good at everything. This felt like a compliment, but also, like the most horrifying pressure I’ve ever faced. Good at everything? Hardly. I’m not. I’m good at some things and then, not so good at others. I think the difference is that I keep at all the things, regardless of my aptitude. My enjoyment is not based on my skill level or success.

This is a radical thought, right?

I’ve never felt deterred by something just because I need to keep trying, even with a thought in mind that I may never get to the place where I might like to be. An example? Golf. I love playing golf. I love taking lessons. I do. I’m not great. I’m not even that good. But I have a ton of fun trying and I know that I’m going to keep at it. I’m sure I’ll get incrementally better with time. Will I ever be the person folks are dying to draft for their foursome? Nope. Does that matter? Not particularly.

I have this theory that many of us don’t do things, or even try them, because we have a fear of failure or worse, a sense that we won’t perform as expected.

Now, let me be clear that not liking something is another situation entirely. You don’t need me to grant you any sort of permission here, but still, you have the unilateral right to dislike an activity, and to decide not to do it ever again. Sure, I’m always going to encourage you to try something more than once, but if it really felt like shit, avoid it like the plague.

The only advice I’m giving here, is to try and enjoy something just because, and not with an outcome in mind. This is an outrageously foreign concept, I know. It is.

Oh, wait a minute- before you start going on and on about participation trophies or some shit, let me share that I’m not suggesting you be celebrated for any sort of mediocre attempt at a thing (though honestly, I don’t see the harm there, and I think we’ve started to take everything way too seriously). I’m saying that the trophies don’t always matter. Or the PRs. Or the place in line. Not every dish has to be Instagram worthy. Not every holiday scape deserves a reel.

Can you imagine saying to someone- “Oh, I’ll bring my chopped salad to the party, it’s okay” and then waiting and sitting in the discomfort? Why would you be uncomfortable? Come on now, you know the answer. Why not bring your best dish to the party? Are you self-handicapping or is it truly just okay? Here’s a better question- has anyone ever perished or had their life ruined with an average bowl of greens? I mean, there’s probably a story out there somewhere, but you know what I mean.

You know what this move does for you, this shift towards acceptance of a scale of aptitude? FREEDOM baby. That’s right. You heard it here first. Scrape together a dessert with the shit you have laying around your house. DIY a holiday gift and lean into “it’s the thought that counts.” Be out of sync in a dance class but laugh your ass off the whole time. Free yourself from overthinking and overbuying and self-criticism.
Do all the things and be great at a few and meh at more.

Live your very best life straight down the middle with spikes from time to time.

But also, when you achieve that perfect latke straight outta the gate- give a whoop of joy and crown yourself Jewish royalty. And while you’re at it, take a selfie with that tater cake and caption it #nailedit.

Happy Mediocre Hunting.

X
L.