I have recently discovered my love of cooking.
Growing up, it never interested me, perhaps because my mom never was. Which isn't saying that my mom is a bad cook, but that it wasn't her passion. Combine that with me being a picky eater and I just never cared much, unless it was cookies.
Lately I notice things changing. Things I snubbed as a kid because it was "grown-up and yucky" are now delicious (confirming my younger self's belief) and as my taste grows, so does my desire to cook.
Cooking is a necessity that came out of living on my own and, later, becoming a vegetarian, but the more I did it the more I found I enjoyed it. I have always been a person who liked doing stuff with my hands, as anyone who has had the misfortune of spending time with me might have noticed, with all the tapping and gesturing, and cooking gives me a wonderful outlet for that. My older brother is the same way, and is also a good chef, but he is also talented in many other areas. I just have cooking.
Which isn't to say I am good at it. I'm not. Most of the time I feel really half-assed, others downright terrible. I don't experiment enough, I don't plan enough, and I fall back on the same old standards too often. This annoys me far more than it should because when I put in the effort--spend the time to think about a recipe, buy the right ingredients, put it all together--I am very happy.
All of which is to say that now I find myself thinking about my dream kitchen, my dream supplies, the way I would arrange anything. But, lacking that kind of money, for the moment all I can do is dream about having the time to try making my own pasta.