small plate, big plate

rethinking the concept

Good Morning,

I’m writing in with something I’ve been reconsidering for myself. It feels more like stumbling upon an obvious truth rather than an inner kernel of wisdom, but maybe the way I’m thinking about it will be, at the very least, a nice read or visual.

I don’t remember when/how I first learned about the “big plate v. small plate” concept—that you’re either someone who can handle a lot going on at once or functions better with as little as possible going on at a time. Growing up thinking (being told/modeled) that productive is the sort of the best thing a person could be, I thought big plate person=good and small plate person=generally not as good. I used to get on my high horse and smugly declare to myself and others that I was decidedly a “big plate” person. Bring it on. I can and will handle it. Well.

I’ve since grappled with the “productivity” of it all, and learned that more is not always more, you don’t win a prize for taking on too much, and that there’s a lot of nuance between the big and small. What is “big” or “small” is relative—to a person, but also within a person’s life, across time. Things change in scale depending on what else is going on, or how you feel at any given moment (choosing between a black or cream sweater can unearth more existential questions and angst than a job search on the right day).

All to say, in the past four years or so, I’ve morphed into a small plate person. And become perpetually afraid of things piling on.

In the aftermath of COVID, my world got smaller: I worked from home, I was single again, I lived alone for the first time. I became more self-centered in the most literal sense of the word. I had the gift of just-for-me space and time which I greeted with open arms (and too many meals in bed).

Over time, living this way gave me a false sense of control (along with a weakened built-in connection to the outside world), and I recalibrated towards it.

Whenever something new or different or important enters my orbit—a project, an eviction notice, a trip—my default is to center it. Clear everything else off my plate so it’s the one and only thing I have to focus on.

And soon enough. . .

Has become monumental. Has taken over.

Counterintuitive to my own logic, making something the center of my life sort of fucks me up. I ruminate, I try to anticipate every possible outcome, I drive myself crazy attempting the impossible.

The past couple weeks, I’ve been experimenting with lettings things slowly pile on. And by that I mean not clinging to the comfort of my apartment and alone time by default the moment I feel the walls of responsibility or more than one plan a week start to close in.

I’m realizing that having more going on (within reason) gives me helpful distance from those new, big important Things. I can see it more clearly in the context of my life and the structure helps it feel more manageable—or provides space to cry or let loose or distract myself when “manageable” just isn’t in the cards. (Duh: structure is helpful).

In the same way I’d never lose sight of a favorite food just because it was surrounded by sides, I trust that I’ll remember to tend to something important to me, as best I can. There is no perfect scenario, perfect time, perfect way.

Thanks for reading,
 🍽️ 💗Ariella