Let's have an ending to things.
Caraway is a lesser known spice, and it's hard to describe. At its best, it adds depth and a subtle hint of other to a dish, deepening the flavor of lighter spices like basil and oregano or lifting the flavor of heavier ones like paprika. It is subtle, but can overwhelm other parts of a dish if used incorrectly.
Ever since I first used caraway, I loved the stuff. It's great as a spice, but I liked it more for its other characteristics, the temperament of the spice if you will, more than for its taste. Caraway requires craft to use. It is powerful and temperamental. It is subtle but difficult to mask, and wherever it is found, it adds a depth to its environment that is difficult to quantify.
We all have heroes. Mine just happens to be found in the spice cupboard.
Earlier in the year, I wrote a post on simple things being used to add inordinate joy to our lives. That was based around a symbol I discovered when I was very young, the symbol of candles. Typically, candles are found in romantic settings, and don't get me wrong, they're great there. But they're also found in quieter restaurants, used on holidays, and brought out in the evening when the twilight's warm enough. Candles, then, are used to show that something has worth. They add significance and depth. They make the situations they're found in special.
I want my life to be special. There's no avoiding that. Normality is not an ideal I could ever stomach, so I struck out on my own and created my own way to see, touch, and change the world. Part of that was trying to learn an emotional language, something that everyone inherently understood. If I could understand that, then I could bring all of my latent manipulative nature to bear and use what I had learned to influence and improve the world around me.
That language exists. Symbolism and the meanings behind gestures is part of it, but mainly it is the language of small things. Small gestures carry a truly disproportionate amount of weight. Holding someone's hand means far more than clutching at their fingers. Bringing someone a hot meal says more than the most prolific of get-well cards. A bar of chocolate can be given to a friend, a significant other, or a parent, and every time it will carry a unique and powerful message.
This language is incredibly intuitive and remarkably well-known, but we use it less than we could. We all know that chocolate helps when a friend is hurting, but how many of us have ever made sure they had a bar at ready hand when they needed it? It can take hours to prepare for a date, but buying champagne flutes and filling them with sparkling cider before watching a movie will create memories just as strong. Through small and simple things, enormous feelings and ironclad trusts can be created and revealed. It is far easier to speak the language of symbols than to muddle around in our native tongues.
I began with the language of candles, a comforting symbol that can be used to create a warm and comforting or deep and meaningful situation in equal measure. I moved on to the idea of caraway, which I do believe I created the meaning of. If that is the case, then caraway means a subtle but strong resolve to bolster all those around you, avoiding recognition but inspiring trust, and always seeking to find balance and support others rather than overpowering them. Caraway is overpowering when used too liberally, but as a supporting spice, it can give its dish depth and significance beyond anything it could have been if it were left out. As a symbol, it strives to do the very same, and encourages us to embrace the small and simple things that show depth rather than trying to distinguish itself among others.
My church believes in the idea of service, and furthermore believes that all members should support all they can as best they know how. The symbol of caraway is rooted in the idea of how it relates to others, and I believe that the core of it, the idea that we should try to improve our surroundings without seeking for our own glory, is something that would vastly improve common relationships. What if you knew that everyone you met would willingly help you, as best they could, if you asked for it? I believe that we'd all be just a bit more comfortable, a bit less on edge, and able to trust each other a little bit more.
Caraway is a small shift in the spicing of a dish, but its power is unmistakable nonetheless. As a symbol, the idea of emulating that and trying to help while staying as quiet as you can about it increases the genuine nature of your gestures, which increases their ability to impact others. A gesture that everyone hears about can be used to emphasize yourself, to set yourself up before all the world. A gesture that no one is ever aware of, however, is something between you and the receiver, and is appreciated more because of the personal nature of the gift.
We can choose to improve the lives of everyone around us, if we are willing to watch for those who are hurting and to help where we can. If we are also willing to be absolutely silent on the matter and avoid recognition where we can, those receiving help will know it to be genuine and value it all the more. If we want to go above and beyond, we can use the universal language of symbols to craft messages that are universally understood and instantly taken to heart.
Symbols and other small gifts can mend broken hearts and lift broken spirits. It doesn't have to be complicated, expensive, or even all that well thought out. The important thing behind a symbol is the intention it expresses, and when that's being used to help get someone back on their feet, a simple bowl of soup, loaf of bread, or bar of chocolate can work wonders in reminding them that people care.
It's better to serve others than to work for our own personal glory. It's better to use more meaningful messages when we can by using universal symbols to communicate. It is better to be abnormal when normal isn't good enough. These are all things I believe. These are all things I have believed for quite some time now. And now that I'm heading back home, these are all things that I'll be called on to do once again.
I'm not going to lie, the idea of heading home scares me. The Old World was painful, and I'm best at running away from pain when it gets that bad. That's what I did when I came out here.
Now I'm heading back in, with the knowledge that nothing will be different except me. I have become better than I was since I came to college. I've learned a great smattering of useless things. I created a bread recipe. I've been joyful for the first time in a long time.
I think I'll be able to hold on to that joy. My life, when I get back, will avoid much of the pain that led me to come out here in the first place. It should be possible to maintain that joy.
That being said, even if I don't, it's not so much of a price to pay. I've run from that world once, I can do so again if needs be. And the truly important thing, the thing that matters more than whether I've happy or miserable or anything, is whether I follow my moral code and the idea of caraway. Being miserable isn't so much of a price to pay if you can ensure the happiness of all those around you. And I've got about a thousand coping mechanisms when the chips are down, so if I need to, I'll just light some candles, grab a bar of chocolate, and take a bubble bath.
Sure I'm scared. But I can cope. Besides, there's more than just my feelings at stake here, Going home gives me the chance to capitalize on what I learned at college and hopefully become permanently better than I was.
If I can become better, then I will face whatever I need to to do so. And if I need to do it while burning candles and chewing on caraway just to keep myself grounded, then so be it.
