Recipe for a Life Unlived

Ingredients:

- 1 cup of dreams (fresh, preferably from childhood)

- 2 tablespoons of fear (can substitute anxiety if necessary)

- 3 heaping teaspoons of self-doubt (finely ground)

- A pinch of missed opportunities

- 4 generous scoops of routine (well-worn, habitual)

- ½ cup of regret (aged, ideally)

- 1 tablespoon of social expectations (crushed into a fine powder)

- A dash of longing (optional, but recommended)

- 2 cups of time (use sparingly, as it evaporates quickly)

- A sprinkle of “what ifs” (for garnish)

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Preparation Time: A lifetime

Cooking Time: Decades

Servings: 1 life, uneaten but preserved

Instructions:

1. Start with the dreams.

  Place your cup of dreams into a large, sturdy bowl. These should be bright and vibrant, gathered when you were young, still wide-eyed and unafraid of the world. Stir gently with hope until they become soft, malleable, and sweet-smelling. Be careful not to bruise them during this step; once damaged, they never quite return to their original form.

Tip: Be sure to taste your dreams at this stage. Notice the sweetness, the boundless possibilities. This will be the last time they taste so pure.

2. Add fear.

Slowly incorporate the fear. Be mindful—fear has a way of overpowering the dreams if added too quickly. Stir cautiously, watching as it dissolves into the mixture. You’ll notice the dreams losing some of their color, their edges blurring. This is normal. Fear will settle in at different points in your life—maybe it’s the first time you’re told you can’t do something, or when you realize that success is not guaranteed. It might taste bitter, but in small amounts, fear can seem necessary, a way to protect yourself from disappointment. Be careful, though—too much will overpower everything else. In fact, fear tends to cling to dreams, weighing them down, turning what was once vibrant into something more muted, almost gray. Continue mixing until the fear is fully absorbed, thickening the mixture.

3. Sift in the self-doubt.

  This part is crucial. Use a fine sieve to gradually fold in the self-doubt. It will cling to the dreams, weighing them down, but keep stirring. The goal here is a dense, viscous consistency. If done properly, your mixture should feel heavy in the bowl, a little harder to stir, but still workable. Your dreams might start to seem smaller, but don’t worry—that’s just the doubt doing its job.

4. Sprinkle in missed opportunities. 

Now comes the missed opportunities. You only need a pinch—trust me, even the smallest amount will have a profound effect on the overall mixture. These moments will often come unexpectedly: that time you hesitated before going after what you wanted, or when you said “no” because it seemed easier than “yes.” Each missed opportunity changes the mixture in ways you won’t notice until later.

Missed opportunities create small voids within the dreams, little pockets where the air goes stale. Stir gently and you’ll feel them—those moments of hesitation, of paths not taken. They don’t seem like much at first, just tiny gaps, but over time they will grow, expanding as the other ingredients settle in. You’ll start to feel the mixture become uneven, with spaces where something should have been but never was.``

Caution: These gaps will never fully disappear. You may try to stir them away, to mix harder or longer, but missed opportunities have a way of remaining, even when you’re sure you’ve moved past them. Every now and then, the empty spots will bubble up, reminding you of what could have been.

5. Fold in routine.

  Now, take your four generous scoops of routine. Routine should be added gradually, with each scoop folding the mixture into something more predictable, more stable. It should smooth out the jagged edges left by the fear and self-doubt, creating a uniform texture that feels safe, if a little bland. Stir until the mixture begins to harden. By this point, you might find it difficult to differentiate the dreams from the routine. This is perfectly normal.

6. Pour in the regret.

  Pour in your half cup of regret, aged for maximum effect. It should have a deep, bitter flavor by now, with hints of nostalgia and sorrow. Regret works best when aged—think of all the things you didn’t do, all the choices you made that led you somewhere you didn’t want to be. The things you sacrificed, the roads you didn’t take, all contribute to the richness of the regret. As you mix it in, you’ll notice the texture of the mixture becoming thicker, heavier. What was once fluid is now sluggish, slow-moving. As you stir it in, the mixture will darken. You’ll notice that it becomes heavier still, the regret sticking to everything it touches. This is expected. Continue until the bitterness imbues the entire bowl.

Tip: Taste the mixture now. You’ll find that the regret lingers on your tongue, a bitter aftertaste that is hard to shake. It adds complexity, sure, but it also overshadows the sweetness that was once so vibrant. You’ll notice it long after the other flavors have faded.

7. Mix in social expectations.

  Crush your tablespoon of social expectations into a fine powder before adding it to the bowl. This will coat the other ingredients, adding a flavor of conformity that subtly alters the mixture’s taste. You won’t notice the change immediately, but over time, it will blend in, giving everything a uniform, socially acceptable tone. Stir well.

Note: Social expectations are like invisible hands shaping the mixture from the outside. Once they’re in, it’s nearly impossible to get them out. They blend so thoroughly that you’ll forget they were ever added in the first place, but their impact will be undeniable

8. Add the time.

  Carefully measure out two cups of time, being cautious not to let too much slip away. Time tends to evaporate quickly, so pour it in slowly, watching as it dissolves into the mixture without a trace. Keep stirring as the time blends everything together, binding the fear, self-doubt, and regret into a seamless, invisible force that holds your life in place. Once the time is fully mixed in, you’ll notice the mixture becoming less pliable. At this point, it should be difficult to change the form of your creation.

Warning: Time is the most volatile ingredient. It will seem like you have plenty of it at first, but it will disappear faster than you expect. By the time you realize how little is left, the mixture will have already hardened.

9. Optional: A dash of longing. 

  For an extra layer of complexity, add a dash of longing. This will create a subtle, aching flavor—like a sweet that’s just out of reach. It’s optional, but recommended, as it adds depth to the finished product. Stir lightly.

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Baking Instructions:

- Preheat your life to a low heat—just enough to keep you warm, but not so much that you’re uncomfortable. 

- Pour your mixture into the mold of everyday existence. Make sure it fits neatly inside the lines. Smooth out any edges that stick out too far. 

- Place the mold in the oven of years. This is a slow bake; it will take decades to finish. Be patient. Over time, the dreams will shrink, and the regret will solidify, creating a hard outer shell. 

- You’ll know it’s done when the routine has completely set, and the regret bubbles just beneath the surface, ready to be tasted at any given moment.

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Serving Suggestions:

Once your life is baked and fully cooled, serve it with a sprinkle of “what ifs” for garnish. This will enhance the flavor of the regret, bringing out its rich, complex notes. Best enjoyed late at night, alone, when the rest of the world is asleep and the quiet allows you to savor each bite.

Be warned: This dish is filling, but not particularly satisfying. Many find themselves left with an empty feeling, craving something more. Unfortunately, once made, it is almost impossible to alter. You can, however, try again, if you’re willing to start from scratch—but by then, you may find that your ingredients have run out.

Yield: 1 Life Unlived.

Enjoy. Or don’t.