Alright, kids… I’m told that it all begins with an idea. Sure. Sure. That’s a lovely sentiment. But really, if there’s no execution of that idea, then there’s no tangible beginning. We all come up with several brilliant ideas in a day—many are, of course, nuts, but do we act on the possible ones? In 2010, after years of restless debate, I finally made a decision. The time had come for selfishness. That’s right. With a predilection for bending right the hell over and taking it, the thought of standing up for myself was not an easy one. But it occurred to me that, either in the distant—or, for all I knew, near—future, as I lay dying, I didn’t want to be there thinking, “man, I wish I’d done this or that!” For the things that you do do only contribute to wisdom, whereas, the things that you don’t do are what end up as regrets. And feeling regret is so much more arduous than feeling failure. So, a lofty idea was executed, and with no intention of ever becoming a chef, I ran off to culinary school.
Thrilled with my created purpose, and while my hyper-organized self took center stage—personalizing my tools, color coding my notebooks, setting up a dedicated and alphabetized bookcase, and the like—I suddenly had this wild thought that I should blog my way through the experience. People were doing this blogging thing: just laying it all out there on the interweb for anyone and everyone to see. What the ham sandwich?! Was this the wave of the future? (did I just date myself by saying wave of the future? yeah, probably. do I care? not really) Whatever… as I had journaled my way through many a previous adventure, the idea of keeping a digital diary, complete with photos and perhaps video, might be a fun way to look back at such determined insanity. I was, after all, a 37-year-old masochist, who no longer had The Captain documenting my moves.
Over drinks with friends, full of furious fervor, I blurted: “I’m thinking about starting a blog and chronicling the whole culinary school experience!” Which promptly provoked the bothered replies: “You’re an idiot. First of all, I have no idea what you’re thinking going to cooking school—get a job like the rest of the adults,” “what on earth makes your crazy, overachieving ass think you can even possibly manage to shit out a blog regularly, when you’re going to get up at 4:30 every morning, drive over an hour away, and compete with a bunch of juvenile delinquents in a boiling hot kitchen?,” and “please, you could never do it! It takes you an excruciating amount of time to do anything, because everything has to be so perfect,” etc. etc. You get the picture. And, like the idiot I was accused of being, I accepted these embittered-grown-up responses as support in favor of my own internal oppressor (it didn’t take much. in fact, I could be inventing this external dialogue from my “friends” altogether), and the blog idea died before it was even initiated.
12 years later, I’m so super sad that, though I was courageous enough to execute one manic idea, I wasn’t even foolhardy enough to attempt the potentially fruitful other. Culinary school is, by far, one of my most amazing accomplishments! And now, I haven’t much more than a bunch of ragged kitchen tools, a hefty loan debt, and the ability to make gorgeous eggs.
So. Here I sit, again, on the threshold of a new adventure. And now, nearly half a century old, decaying rapidly. Again, I look at my deathbed – either distant or near, who’s to say. Will I regret not writing at least one blog post? Without a doubt!
Therefore, I say… Perfectionism, you oppressive little demon, be damned! Now…
Who exactly is this Captain of which I spoke… ?