Well, following a recipe that has very few ingredients, all of which are in my cupboard, and that takes no more than five minutes to set up from start to finish, and that is largely liquid-based (with salt added) so it won't matter if I cry into it, and that I don't care if it turns out to be an abysmal failure -- that I find easy!
But isn't the "start" when you decide to go outside to the garden and have to find your boots which turn out to be behind a cardboard box in the hall, and your gloves, one of which is on the garage floor and the other turns out to be behind the washing machine, and then you find and put on a mask because you're allergic to all of nature, and then you have to find the gardening stuff which is under all the wood stuff in the garage and really you should organize all this shit so maybe you start doing that for a few minutes before it gets boring and you reorient, but now your mouth is dry so you have to go get water and start over, and then you go back out and pull up plants and collect seeds, and then you come back in and take off the boots and wash your hands and change all your clothes and shower because even though you were only outside for three minutes you somehow got a substantial amount of mud and plant-bits in your hair, ears, bra and knee-crevices, and then finally you go to the kitchen and pull out the book and--? No?
Hey, though, I hear you. Sort of. I mean, having a thing you can return to you that you're comfortable with...
Writing fiction!

Or tackling a new recipe that takes hours and requires heaps of stuff and that is really finicky to put together. That includes anything with the word "pie" or "pastry" in its name.
Mmm. Writing fiction is hard, it's true. But I don't have to find shoes to do it, at least...
In any case--the point is, I mean, not to get bawdy, but you have an impressive baseline; extremely jealous
