Finding Your Peak Self

This morning I went to “burp” the watermelon rinds I’ve been fermenting for a few days. I’m not sure if I’ve made a probiotic dense delicacy or toxic-mold infested hooch. When I asked Gab (see: husband, guinea pig) to taste it a few days ago, he spat it out, saying it reminded him of picklebacks. Today, I found a small layer of mold, which the internet mostly agreed you could scoop off and carry on. I did not subject him to another taste-test, but did rack up the courage to eat several pickles from the sub-mold layer. The jury is still out.

In the process, I thought about the problematic trad-wife trend, and how disconnected we are from food knowledge that has kept us healthy and fed for centuries. I love the work @blackforager does on this topic. (I’ve been mildly scared of poisoning myself with these pickles all week).

I also thought about the idea of “peak self.” It comes up quite a bit with clients. When are you at your best? When are you, most you? What does it feel, look, taste, sound, or smell like? What impact does it have on you and those around you?

I’m always keeping an eye out for it. It's something to learn from, celebrate, and makes space for in myself and others. Today, fermenting, I was reminded of what it can feel like for me. I often ask clients to note "peak" moments. Since they are brave enough to share their peak selves with me, I will share a snippet of mine with you. Reading it back, it makes me think of other moments and versions of peak me that are not captured, but I also get moved to tears by the end. If you journal on this, tears or goosebumps are usually a sign that you're on the right track.

I am peak me when I’ve slept. I feel life force flowing through me. It is a bright energy, not always a quick one. Sometimes I rise and feel the pull of an adventure. To get outside, explore, see, go somewhere - anywhere my feet move me. I find myself on the ferry, staring at colorful puddles at the curb, eating a sweet bun from the Chinese bakery across the street. Other days it is quiet. I putter and tidy. I feed my sourdough, make pickles out of scraps, wash the dishes, make myself something nice to drink. I find myself there too. My mind eases out of sleep into a state of wonder. In between there is no tugging, no expectation, no demand. I let myself do whatever I want. I let myself be. My eyes and mind open gently to joy. To sensing and feeling, to consciousness, to pain, to the mystery of inner and outer worlds. In this moving stillness, my creativity expands. My capacity to hold expands. I feel like a child and a crone at once.