hold.

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This time of year is tough for me.

Maybe it’s tough for you, too.

It’s strange because it represents a lot of things for me.
December marks my birthday which always makes me sit in some feelings that range from pure bliss to absolute heartbreak. Not that I’m so sad about it, but I do miss the years spent with people I don’t see anymore.

Things are forever moving forward — and while that’s something I usually praise, I also mourn for the times and people that I have lost.

My mind is stretched thin,
and I’m ultra aware of the heart beating in my chest.

I am aware of the clock that is ticking — that’s telling me that one day, I will have to do something different with my life. I wish cooking wasn’t so stressful. I wish running a business didn’t hold such a heavy weight. I wish we were all nicer to one another.

But again, I come back to the heart beating in my chest.

Give me a moment to be vulnerable with you and I crave telling you what you mean to me. For some reason, I think it’s very important for things to be raw, mostly unfiltered. I know sitting on feelings is smart, too. But damnit if I’m not always thinking about how short our time is on this world and how I already know that I wish I could’ve told people how much they’ve meant to me.

traffic-at-night-shutterstock

This time of the year is terribly wild.

You can sense the stress and anxiety — in the merging of car lanes and ideas and patience.
(all of which I get cut off.)

There are so many people I want to tell that they’re beautiful.
I want them to know that their pain wears heavy on my shoulders and I am okay with it.

My friends, who have lost their friends and kids and their parents, I want to grab on to them and pull them in like some kind of strong gravity. And I want them to know that pain fades but it doesn’t disappear — that those moments when you stare into the distance and remember are the closest you are to that person again. I want to tell you how much my heart aches for you.

It makes want to make you laugh.

It makes me want to make you a grilled cheese with expensive champagne.

All of these things I want to do for you.
And sometimes I can.

This season is kind of selfish. And I am selfish with myself. I wish I could give more of myself but at the end of the day, I am all that I have under my roof. I take great care of making sure I can be enough for you, even though I’m not sure if that’s possible.

I am so used to being alone, I am often frightened at how easy it is to be okay with it. Of course there are things I miss. The intimacy. The memory. The orchestrated chaos. Among other things.

You have this heart, you see?
and it’s there beating in your chest for one thing or another. Remember it beats for you first. Take care of that thought, please.

And take care of the things your heart needs.

Remember to breath from your belly and to loosen your shoulders from time to time. Stretch your jaw muscles and learn to love on your rolls. You know which rolls I’m talking about. Most people really aren’t looking at you like that anyways.

But mostly,

breathe (and close your eyes.)

you are absolutely worth every good thing,
because you’re still here,

and you’re still moving forward into the Great Mystery.

(hold on to it.)

 

pressure.

Food

Walking back and forth between the two dinners we were working, I could smell the way the sun warmed the flowers that grow in between the movement and stillness of wood and brick and people that walk around the walls of this building.

I used to lean against these walls years ago, wondering if the hustle was worth it — barely making enough to pay my bills and have a life here. Those are the times that define you the most. The sink or swim moments where you are so grateful, but also so tired of taking people’s money — food — personal time. Sometimes I think luxury is not having to bother people for their things.

The conversation in my industry, especially now, is not so much talking food or trends, but stress, anxiety, addiction and depression.

On my drive to Louisiana today, I listened to a few chefs talk about their demons and the demons that haunt the restaurant world. The pressure to perform and what that pressure does to the cooks they employ. Cooking has never been an easy thing. In fact, it’s always a lot of work, you just get better at doing it and doing it faster than anyone else.

There’s the pressures to compete, to transform expectation and to evolve with the people that eat your food.

At what cost?

That’s the question now.

kitchen-fire

I am currently battling a lot of anxiety. Do I feel stressed? Sometimes. But now this toxic stuff has become a bit more of my life — recently working a 12 day stint on the line got me a little fried. Every day, you work to outsmart your customers. To prepare for their questions or their worries about what they’re paying for — often times you feel successful. Most of the time, you learn to be flexible and to just move on.

Sometimes, it’s easier to give the customers what they want, but sometimes it’s at the cost of something you’ve spent a lot of time thinking about. Tasting. Testing. Running through the mill.

There’s so much pressure in that.
There’s pressure in people wanting more and knowing you may be one of the only people who can give it to them.

I’m not sure of the cost of coming home every day and collapsing on the couch, forcing myself to take deep breaths to calm my pulse and come back to Earth as quickly as I can. I know I that I have to, and that I have to focus on bringing myself down in order to function.

I walk fast. Everywhere. A lot of times impatient. Things I feel are so unlike me.

Some days, I walk away feeling sad that I push for so much hustle — so much performance. I fight the line between wanting to be the best and wanting to be realistic. I am always trying to find the balance of healthy and hustle. I’m not sure if there is one, at least not to me right now.

I listened to these chefs speaking things that brought tears to my eyes. They were right in saying that food and cooking is the easiest part of our jobs. Other things like conflict and interpersonal relationships are hard, hard, hard to navigate. It gets hot and fast and you have to remain a good person. You just have to. IT IS JUST FOOD.

Customers also have to help us. We all have to shift to make restaurants a place where people can work and not go home every single day to get stoned and drink away their tips just to cope with the stress of other human beings. A lot of the pressure comes from chefs and business owners, but also customers.

We all have the ability to create and alleviate this toxic thing.

I am lucky to have such a wonderful, hard working and kind crew. I am not always the best human being to be around — especially as of late.

I put so much pressure on myself — to be better than the place moving in down the street and to make sure we are staying on top of our game. But at the end of the day, I would give it all up if I knew it was completely destroying someone’s life.

I believe this industry can change. I believe we can be healthy people that also love to cook and eat and serve other people. In fact, we are changing this world. I have so much work to do on myself, and how I see this for myself, but I’m noticing. I’m shifting. I’m growing.

Food is so important to me. People are more important. I am more important.

The future of food is always shifting, and it’s going to ask you to lower an expectation. It’s going to ask you to pay more, sometimes.

But at the core of what we do, is to take care of you. Sometimes we need your grace and you need ours.

So, we invite you in to eat our food and talk to our servers. Let’s disarm each other whenever we can and make this thing work.

We have to.
The future of food depends on it.

I was met at my destination today to my nephew, throwing me a baseball glove to play.

It was just what I needed.

A breeze that moved the trees,

the sun that warmed my face,

and the feeling that everything was going to be okay.