Nourishment. WEEK 10

I didn’t grow up in a household where “I love you” was said much…if at all. The lack of vocalization of those words was influenced by a myriad of complex factors. Part of it was cultural (as traditional Vietnamese households refrained from expressing such emotions), part was generational (as being immigrants to a new world the influence of heritable cultural characteristics was just beginning to seed), and lastly my parents just weren’t people of many words. As a kid I struggled with this especially after spending time at my friends’ homes where their moms would yell out “be safe out there and I love you!” with thick Midwest accents as we ran out the door. I didn’t understand the discrepancy of these three words I had with my own parents which led to so many fractional thoughts in my teenage years. But something occurred to me a little later in life, I realized almost every time, we were running out the door of one house to end up opening the door to mine.

My friends and I would arrive at my home late in the evenings and head down to the basement to hangout. Over the music and chatter you could hear the faint sounds of my mom’s feet heading to the kitchen; a symphony created by the clanging of pots, chopping knives against a cutting board, and the stove vent pumped on high. Within minutes the house was filled with a savory aroma. I would see my friend’s faces light up as they said, “what’s your mom cooking?”. We would run up to the small kitchen table where a feast had been laid out just for us. Joyous consumption, conversation, and laughter had replaced the sounds of cooking; my mom quietly standing by the sink finishing dishes before heading back to bed. And that’s where it hit me, the language of love wasn’t just about what you hear or say, it could also just be about what you did and saw. I then realized the most amazing thing…this act of creating nourishment from my mom was bringing individuals across all backgrounds and cultures together in our home.

Fast forward to today I have concluded that nourishment comes in all forms, and when it is rich in nutrients, honest, and intentional it can be a uniting force which fosters bonds, encourages open communication, and nurtures a sense of belonging.

Nutrients for example can be like the unwavering act of being an active listener and an intentionally curious person. Creating a culture based on listening actively, not just with a simple head nod (as you are thinking about wanting one more bite of noodles) while the person in front of you is sharing something helps facilitate more meaningful conversations. Asking questions and reaffirming what you heard leads to deeper connections. Something I have taught teams along my journey: LISTEN, REGURGITATE, CONFIRM...and if you don't understand or need clarity, just ask and repeat those 3 steps.

Being honest and open to receive is like the small kitchen table set for a feast in which this communal act helps transcend barriers, celebrating our common humanity, and promoting inclusivity. Dining with others leads to being more deliberate with your actions and provides an opportunity to celebrate traditions, share failures, and learn things of new. The provisions of a meal provide a respite from daily stresses, creating a space for relaxation, expression, and enjoyment, just as creating a safe space would for those around you to be as they are.

When all is said and done, when you can create moments of joy and laughter, they contribute to feelings of contentment, happiness, and enhancing overall well-being; just like how sharing a satisfying meal can do. It is a powerful human experience to be able to share in a safe space and transcends mere nourishment. It strengthens relationships, celebrates individuality, and preserves cultural legacies. Cooking, listening, sharing, or whatever your version of creating nourishment is underscores the profound connection between us, our relationships, and the human experience.

Looking back now, I knew I was loved and still am. I feel it in my heart even in the moments of thinking back to those times as a kid. But if you want more proof, you should see pictures of me back in the day. Now I am not size shaming myself, but let’s just say I was well fed and have carried this same dad bod with me my whole life.

Husky boys for the win.

Love you mom.