Nilla Fare

I’m 23 11/12 and I found myself eating Nilla Wafers out of the box nearing midnight during a recent visit home to my parents house.

I haven’t eaten these since preschool (or have I?), yet now, 20 11/12 years later, I’m comforted by these unassuming, delicious (trust me) treats amidst my what should I do with my life angst, as if the taste of childhood could revive that magical Disney feeling that blanketed my youth.

My mom stood nearby washing dishes in a 100% cotton, knee-length pajama shirt. I wore a similar one of hers (different color, different pattern); I pack as little as possible for visits home, mitigating the packing anxiety experienced by a lover of travel.

And then I saw myself as a daughter again. In my DC life, I’m a volunteer, resistant young professional, yogi, studio renter, aspiring freelancer, student at times, a friend. In creating this life unto me, I forgot what it was like to berate my dad for not putting the seat down, call out to my mom from the shower because I forgot a towel, be woken by someone and not by my cell phone.

I went on auto pilot – sitting in the back seat of a car that took me places I didn’t navigate to; walking around sans purse (wallet, metro card, travel size lint brush); eating food from the fridge I had no role in purchasing; sleeping in a bed I didn’t make, yet somehow the comforter found its way home in time for the next night’s rest.

Our Saturday night out included pizza, followed by a large frappaccino unintentionally shared three ways. Family is a blended approach to life. Then a stop at a book store where I picked something out, handing it off to my mom to buy while I continued to browse in the minutes before the store closed. In childlike fashion, I was the only one who got a toy.

In this digression to dependency, I wondered (and worried) how I would find my way back to the holistic pistol I seemed to be less than 48 hours before.

Nilla Wafers – talk about food for thought.