new chapter

Today was the first day in the past four months that I felt in control of the world around me. Watching my daughter playing in the grass, sun shining on her skin. Tapping of branches along a fence post, the smell of crawfish water lingering about. Blankets scattered on the lawn, cold beer in my hand. I enjoyed a conversation or two with a couple friends. Good friends, which I had forgotten existed.

New chapter in the life of this chef. Never before had I gone through such a shift in routine. Going from the rebel who fought to free a kitchen of its tyrant to full control of the entire operation. It is lonely at the top. Each day a new struggle to keep things in harmony. Hoping, crossing fingers, praying that the day flees just as fast as it had arrived.

I’ve been borderline mental lately. One panic attack away from a trip to the shrink. The first quarter of this year wasted to anxiety, sleepless and completely consumed by what might go wrong.

Fearful of missing a single moment of my daughter growing up at the expense of providing enjoyment to people I have never met before. The constant question in my head of “ what the hell am I doing here?” I wonder at times if I was ever cut out for this. Did I rush things along to find out that I was not equipped to meet expectations? I made it thus far, so that must mean I did something right somewhere along the line. I wonder how many times I can keep repeating it.

I have lost track of time, and I am completely unable to remember or even distinguish any pasted day from another. My memory consist of a million flashes, it is like starring into a dark room with a million cameras going off trying to capture a single still moment. There’s nothing there.

For some reason today feels different.

I have learned a lot about myself lately. And a lot about my profession and what it takes to play at this level. I thought about getting closer to religion, in hope to make all things better. Instead this is my church. This is my time in the confession box. Putting these thoughts on paper is what feels right. I belong to an overly romanticized profession. The part you don’t hear about is what it takes to make it all work. The sacrifice and consuming passion that drives you beyond every reservation, every fear of failure.

This is more for me then it is for you. I don’t plan to make this entertaining. It is simply one cook’s realization that he can’t make it on his own.

And so it begins, the story of my life. The delicate and often unstable balance of love and hatred for the kitchen.