Me Without My Vice

Lent.

It's that time of year again, when good, practicing Catholics celebrate Lent. Four forty days there is reflection, prayer, and self denial. I am not a good practicing Catholic, but I still celebrate the Lenten season.

This year I decided to give up a vice that likely harms me most: television and movies.  I am of the TV age. As a kid I probably watched at least 8 hours a day. We'd get home from school and watch cartoons, the Monkeys and Brady Bunch reruns. Then we had dinner followed by Odd Couple, MASH, and Three's Company reruns. Then it was network prime time: One Day at a Time, more MASH, Barney Miller, Happy Days and the Friday night classics, Dallas and Falcon Crest.

Sometimes we would skip prime time for replays of classic movies on another local station. This is where I was introduced to Woody Allen movies, Alfred Hitchcock, and other classics.

Television for me became a constant companion. It's not just a place to be distracted or entertained, it's a place to find comfort, because by watching TV I don't have to think of myself and my own issues. I can divorce reality one show at a time. Sometimes, even now, I allow television, now in its streaming incarnation, to hold me in place when I should be dealing with other things. I admit, it's kind of like a drug that way. Instead of coping or doing, I sit and watch. Sometimes I lay and watch.

But now for the next few weeks I'm denying myself this vice. My choices for entertainment are still many. I still have plenty of news to read, a stack of books, and many neglected chores to be done. I'll be interested to see how I re-engage without TV, and if I make it the full forty days. I wonder if this self denial will change my habits.  I have more than a few friends who live entirely without TV. Maybe I'll become like them. It's doubtful. But at least I'll (hopefully) have a bit of a mental cleanse.

Self denial I think is a good thing occasionally. It's a practice in discipline and takes us away from habits that may be harming us.

Are The Rich Just Insecure?

I have a theory about the rich. I think they are fundamentally across the board insecure. I base this belief on the fact that they are not easily satisfied. If they were they wouldn't need to be rich.

Have you ever watched one of those "Real" whom ever of what ever place reality shows? I did once, and what stayed with me was a woman who was throwing herself a birthday party and kept going on about how everything just had to be perfect. It made me wonder, why?

Why would any of us seek out a so called perfect existence, where everything is over-hyped, over-priced and over the top? Is it because what one might believe those things reflect about our worth? And if that is the case, why then would one need to reflect that much self worth? Can we not be as worthy with second hand clothes, a used but reliable car and entertainment that consists of the company of friends sharing what we have, be it food, stories or music?

I hope I can be thus satisfied with the latter, because that's what I have. I work hard, providing a service for others, and I'm not just ok with that, but proud of what I do. I try to defer any need to impress others. If someone is impressed by me I don't want it to be because I sought it out. I don't want to need admiration based on what I have, or what kind of life I lead. I just want to live simply and have a lovely life.

But for some, specifically those who perhaps didn't earn the life they portray, it seems that worth is a thing that must be proven over and over again. Again, I ask why? Why is it not enough to live in a small but comfortable house? Why is it not enough to wear clothing without much ado? What would it mean to such a person to not have everything be perfect? Does it makes them less of a person? Does their heart pump less blood? Do their eyes see less light and color? I don't think so.

What I do think is that a rush of endorphins creates a giddiness that is mistaken for satisfaction. But I don't think it's real. If it were it would last, and the rich would have no reason to consistently need more money, resources and power. If they were secure enough in themselves, they would not need so much.

From the outside, it looks like a glass that can never be full. What a horrible way to live, not because of what they seem to lack, but because of how much they lack by choosing not to give.

One More Week

Well shit. I guess I'm in the minority. It seems the Blogger App for iPad is obsolete, so now I have to blog via Chrome. It seems to work ok, except for the small problem that I can't blog directly into the app while offline. If I want to do such things now, I have to do it on my notepad and then copy and paste into the browser, and OMG my head is already starting to hurt. Perhaps I should consider moving this blog to my formal one, except I like the separation.

In other news, I'm in my final week of my visit to the Great White North. Autumn colors abound here right now. It's cool, but not yet really cold, and I'm wearing my sweats during the day now. There's something very happy about dressing cozy.


It's been a different kind of trip for me this time. My Mother-In-Law passed away. It was expected, but not. She was a vibrant loving woman, who loved catering to guests, children, grandchildren and dogs. When in her presence, I felt like I had a mom again. I will miss her. I know Ric does, but he's so stoic that it might not seem so to some. I'm just thankful I got the chance to know here before she left us.

It's been not quite a month since we lost Phylis, and it took a minute to get back into my Canadian routine. I only went to the library once and still have yet to crack two of the three books I checked out.  I've been baking, bread and pastries. I think I finally have my pastry dough down. And my bread has been really good lately, except for my loaf shaping, which still needs work on the sealing.

I've actually been trying to rest as much as possible this trip. I was exceptionally worn out when I got here. Even my Mother-in-Law, from her hospital bed, mentioned how tired I looked. In truth I could use another six weeks off, but the ticket is paid for and booked, and I'm expected on the Ferries next week. At least I got some rest, and for that I'm thankful.

Every time I come here, I learn a little more about my other home. It's a different kind of life up here, based in industry. Work clothes, boots and pick-up trucks are a little more the norm here. There's not the pressure to be a "Totally Awesome Rock Star" here. People just do what they do. I may feel different once I work in Saskatoon though. I hope to go back into a kitchen.

It will be a new life, a different life, a life where I move on from what and where I was before. Perhaps this is where my transition completes. Life 3.0, a lovely life. I can dig it.

A Week Partially Unplugged

I'm in Canada with my Partner and for some reason, my phone died. It stopped taking a charge. My partner Ric is an avid geek, especially with small electronics, but after several attempts he could not troubleshoot the thing. Since my data plan doesn't really work up here anyway, I found myself reliant upon wifi for connection via my tablet. So, I informed my loved ones that they could reach me via messenger or my spouse, and just went with it.

The first thing I noticed about being only moderately connected was the continuous compulsion I had to reach for my phone to randomly scroll through whatever. Like most people, I scroll through the ubiquitous Facebook several times a day. Without my pocket device, I was unable to do this. I went through a couple of days of habit withdrawals, but found that a digital detox wasn't so bad. And, when I did go to check online for updates the items I found in my feed seemed unsubstantial: an uplifting quote, maybe one good joke, videos of animals, and news of Trump being obnoxious and continuing to scare the bejesus out of us all. It was like looking for nutrition at a fast food place. The food there will feed you, keep you going, but you know deep down, it isn't  something that is good for you. I spent  more time on Pinterest where I could at least filter content according to my interests, and engage a little imagination. 

Without a working pocket device, I was forced to notice things around me. I admired pictures on the wall, noticed the sound of wind in the trees, which is one of my favorite sounds, and sometimes sat in quite thought. My brain unplugged and all the distraction settled, and then there it was, a small bit of clear thought. It was lovely.

But, reality of the times we live in set in. I have a kid on each coast, and an exceptionally cautious man who doesnt like the idea of me running around with such limited reachability. After a week, I finally had time and maybe motivation to see about a replacement phone. It turned out I could get a replacement, but that they would not ship it to Canada. So we decided to do a rocket run, (there, overnight and back) to Montana where I would be able to pick up the phone which I had shipped to a motel. Apparently, it's a common practice. 

We set out for Montana a little later in the day than we had planned, and even though it's a full day drive from Saskatoon, we didn't rush. We passed through acres of wheat fields in various stages of harvest. We talked to each other about future plans. Ric pointed out aspects of the harvesting process and told me stories of his experience working at a friend's farm when he was a teenager. I took it all in, the sky that seemed to go on forever, the scenery, the small towns all similar but distinct in some way. We saw old barns and abandoned farm houses that looked as though a good gale could knock the whole thing down. I saw deer sauntering across fields, hawks playing on the wind and the odd snake crossing the road.

In Montana we enjoyed our visit to small town America, dining on prime rib at an old school supper club with red vinyl booths and aquariums that separated the dining room from the bar area. The next day we inadvertently toured a good portion of the town trying to find the UPS office that was closed. I needed to return the nonworking phone, and finally found out that we could drop off a package at the home improvement store. Our path to the store however was blocked by a Harvest Festival Parade, so we enjoyed that too. 

It wasn't until I got my new phone that I realized what I was missing by not having a phone. I was missing simple enjoyment of life. Every time I go online now, I know it's more out of habit, and that its one I should perhaps curb. There's life out there. There are things to be seen, books to be read, and quiet contemplations that I want to hear within the confines of my own mind. I know I can't do these things when I constantly allow crap to litter my head. 

While on Pinterest I looked at a lot of nutrition articles and realized that my mental nutrition is lacking. I don't really believe in diets. I'm more of a well balanced, all things in moderation approach to consumption. What I learned is that that approach applies to digital consumption as well. 

Ten Reasons Why Tacos and Taco Trucks are the Best Fast Food

1. Tacos are a very simple food with very few ingredients. The best ones include corn tortillas, seasoned meat, cilantro and onions and maybe house made salsa.

2. Corn tortilla tacos are gluten free!

3. The only part of the taco not made on site is usually the tortilla, and tortillas are made with three ingredients: corn, water and salt. This means tacos are fresh, fresh, fresh!

4. Because the taco meat is not packaged or factory made it likely contains a lot less salt and far fewer ingredients than fast food tacos, some of which are less than 50% meat. Fewer additives mean tastier food that's better for you.

5. Taco Trucks are generally entrepreneurs and provide jobs in local communities. They also help keep money in your local community.

6. Taco Trucks take up a smaller footprint than brick and mortar establishments. And have you ever considered that the proliferation of taco trucks contributed heavily to the whole food truck industry? 

7. Taco Trucks create a social environment. Some of my favorite random conversations were while waiting for tacos. Also many trucks have billboards for flyers and announcements.

8. Did I mention the sides? My taco truck serves those little delights with small roasted onions and radishes.

9. Tacos are usually pretty affordable, ranging from $1.50 to about $3.50 each depending on the truck and the location. Only got $5 in your pocket? You can still get tacos!

10. Tacos are delicious! They're a perfect snack or meal if you eat enough of them. Now go get some! You know you want to.

Concessions

Middle age is upon me. I can say with confidence that I'm wiser now. I've become more health conscious, but I go between that and the "you only live once," mentality. I still love French fries and chocolate desserts. I'm heavier than I've ever been, which is alarming. I'm clumsy, and nursing injuries as a result. I get tired and can't drink like I use to. Makeup is becoming more of a regular thing, specifically at work, where I play a hospitality role.

Life at this age was always hard to imagine. I don't think I imagined feeling like a grown up kid. I at least have a truer understanding of what I want out of life now. I work at being honest with myself about what makes me happy. Often the answer is surprising. I'm learning to be self kind, to forgive myself for not being what I'm not, or what I think others will respect. I have to respect myself, and be good with that. 

Coming out of the fog that was my life before 3.0, feels like coming out of battle. I'm fatigued, and yet a bit weary, but I feel like I survived something substantial. I know now that I can pick up the pieces and make something good. It's like cooking, when you haven't been shopping for a while. What you have is what you have, and with creativity and motivation, sometimes you can create something that is nourishing and delicious.

I know there will be more conflict. I know that my anxiety will continue to challenge me. But, I feel more grounded than I ever have before, and that's something.

Combining Camping Equipment

Maybe it was soon, maybe it was fast, but in retrospect it was time, and I'm so happy we did it.

My partner and I decided to marry. I still call Ric my partner, because husband and wife doesn't seem to fit our relationship. We are equals, forgiving of one another and ever considerate of the other's wellbeing and happiness. Besides that the term husband and wife is somewhat traumatic for both of us. We are partners.

It was a short engagement. I asked him. We had jokingly been talking about making our partnership legal for months, referring to it as "combining our camping gear." That phrase made it into the ceremony which gave us much joy.

We married in Tahoe with but a few friends and family present. Our rings...our rings, were bought from a street vendor in San Francisco and are a perfect metaphor for us as individuals and a couple. They are made by hand, hammered from old silver quarters. Like us as individuals, they are battered, but repurposed into something extraordinary and very unique. I don't think I've ever loved a ring so much as I do this one.

I think we were both hesitant to take this step. We like our relationship, not the long distance part, but the part that is total acceptance of what the other has to offer, good and bad. We didn't want that to change. Quite often I think marriage does change relationships. Many of us still struggle with roles and history, and implications as "Husband and Wife." A co-worker even asked me if I planned to continue to work. We did not want marriage to change us. Thus, we continue to be Partners, it's far more apt for how we feel about each other.

There will be some changes though. Part of the intent of making it legal is making it local, as in living in the same household. Being an international couple pretty much requires that we are legally bound for one of us to move to one country or the other. There are no firm plans yet, but at least now I have an "in" to Canada should things go totally sideways in the states.  For now though we continue to live full time in our respective countries, but taking far more time to visit one another than we have in the past. I suppose we are both believers in fate, because we both have faith that everything will eventually work out.

I can't call it conventional, but our relationship never has been.  Maybe that's why it works so well. To me it's another important step in Life 3.0. As my best friend put it, I "found my lobster."

If You Can't Stand The Heat...

Chef Eric Ripert once said "I went into cooking because I love to eat...I just wanted to be a chef so I could eat." I can get behind that. And maybe that's why I'm a cook now. 

Yes, I'm back in a kitchen again. I'm a working line cook, at a restaurant that's a good bit higher up the scale than the last one. It's challenging. It's hard. It requires focus, and to be honest, I'm not performing in the way I would like to. I'm not meticulous enough, skilled enough, disciplined enough, and I've had a case of head-up-my-ass-itis. It's ok. According to Anthony Bourdain, about 80% wash out of the industry. That's pretty tough odds. If I make it, I'll know I've achieved something a good bit out of the ordinary.

I'm adjusting to having a cook's schedule again, working on getting enough sleep so I'm functional. Working in a kitchen is a physical and mental workout that requires physical stamina, strength, good short term memory, multi-tasking and nerve. You have to keep your wits about you even when you fuck it up, accidentally step on expensive cheese or spill the lemon vinegarette, all of which have happened to me in the last week. Did I mention that it's hard?

Maybe I've been coasting for too long. I forgot that I like to achieve, but learning to do something new at the level I'm at, at the age I'm at, might seem a little insane. It definitely feels insane at times. At the end of the night I just want to know I did it right. The thing is what I'm doing now is an intimate thing. People engage with my work in a very personal way, after all, it goes in their mouths. And then there's the ingredients. Animals die so I can work. Farm workers labor, nurture, cultivate and sweat so I can work. People work at their desk jobs so they can make money to eat a good meal, so I can work. It requires respect for the ingredients, and my coworkers and the diners. I'm trying. I really am. So, now, I write to remind myself what I'm suppose to be doing. Maybe this is what I needed in order to hear that "pop" of my head coming out of my ass.

Earlier in the week, I did a prep shift for a book signing party for Chef Ripert. I only vaguely knew who he was a few days earlier. I didn't meet him, but got a signed copy of his book. I know I'm my own worst critic, but I don't feel worthy, not yet. My friends who maybe watch cooking on TV, think I'm doing this amazing thing. To me, I'm just trying to keep up, and maybe prove my worth in the kitchen. I've been given a chance. I want to make it worthwhile for me and the Chef who hired me.

Life 3.1

I had an interesting conversation yesterday. I was talking to a friend who's one of the boat captains for the ferries. We're just about the same age. We were talking about life achievements, and how at our age, it's kind of hard to come up with new goals. She called it the "midlife dull drums." I heartedly agreed with her. I've been in midlife dull drums myself for quite a while. Today, I hope that changes.

I go back into the kitchen today. This time a little less wide eyed and a bit more serious about what I'm doing there. This is Life 3.1 for me, maybe another incarnation of me, but one I've longed for, for a very long time. It makes me wonder now why I waited. 

For me, at the moment, it's all about capacity. This is well within my skill and capacity. I'm not willing myself to climb to the top of anything, just to be a good cook. I want to be consistent. I want to cook well enough to hold my own. I'm ok with still being a novice at this level because I never thought I'd be here in the first place, and that's what makes this interesting.

While I was going to school and working my way to a "successful" career, it never occurred to me, that I wasn't capable or that I couldn't do it. I just did it. And maybe that's why it didn't last like it could have. I have doubt in my new role. I know there is so much I don't know, and I'm not expected to know it all. When ego can be put aside it can be quite a relief. I'm happy to be in this position.

Life 3.1 is less about willing my way to a goal and more about taking the time to work my way there with diligence and skill. It's a good place to be.

Well then, onward I go. 

Breaking Up Is Hard To Do

I broke up with Burning Man this week. It wasn't contentious or anything, it was just time for me to move on. I've been feeling a need for stability, and orchestrating my life around 6 weeks in the desert every year doesn't seem to contribute to my efforts very well.

As luck and the universe would have it an opportunity arrived at just the right time, and I took it. I'm going back into the kitchen. This time is less of an experiment and more of a lifestyle change. It just suddenly became clear what to do with myself in Life 3.0

I've been preaching about this simplified life I'm trying to achieve a couple of years now, and it occurred to me that having a string of temporary jobs isn't simple at all, especially at tax time. When I went in to stage (pronounced  "stazhje") at this new kitchen, I told the Chef that I was looking for a "home." I meant it. I like being part of something, part of a team, which is maybe why I worked for Burning Man so long.  But, in order to achieve a simpler life, being part of a kitchen seems like a better choice. It's a year-round job, guaranteed hours, even benefits. The decision in truth was quite easy.

But, it's still hard to leave something that was a kind of life raft for me as I traversed a lot of big changes. Burning Man was a constant for me when so many other things in my life were uncertain. I never wanted to feel like Burning Man was fulfilling some existential need in my life, but apparently it was.  Coming to terms with that is a little confusing for me.

For now, I'm happy that there will be some stability in my future. I'm putting down tent stakes and for once they're not in the desert. It feels good, really good.

Interesting Times Have Caught Up With Us

When I was a kid, I was thankful that the turmoil of the 60s was behind us. It was in the past, in black and white pictures and film. I wasn't part of the generation that had to witness dogs, and firehouses, and the National Guard on college campuses. But the curse of interesting times has caught up with us. Sadly, Donald Trump has opened Pandora's box, but not before shaking it up first to agitate the hornets nest inside.

I admit it. I'm scared of the rhetoric and the ugliness that it has unleashed. This isn't something that will just go away. Maybe it was wrong to force equality down the throats of bigots. Maybe we should have attempted to win their hearts and minds, so that this hatred couldn't fester as it has. Or maybe some people are going to hate no matter what.  I've written before about wielding will, but never thought of it from this point of view. 

Hate is never good. Using anxiety as a tool, in some ways is the American way. Ask any advertiser. But using anxiety as a tool to incite anger and an emotional response that encourages people to say and do hateful things is criminal. 

I have faith that a Trump presidency won't happen. But what happens after he fails? What will this pied piper lead his mob to do after he fails? That's what really scares me. All this emotion, agitation, and hate won't just disappear. It's out there, and now we have to deal with it. 

"You Could Try To Go Without Them"

I suffer from a few chronic maladies. I have Thyroid disease which for me means my body doesn't allow my thyroid gland to function, leaving me lethargic without daily medication. Even with medication,  my body goes through ups and downs of energy effecting my motivation and mood. Without medication, it's quite easy for me to fall into depression as a result.

I also suffer from anxiety. Think about how you might feel when you have to do something that makes you stressed, like going into a job review, or dealing with someone that you know is going to yell at you, a lot, and not in an encouraging way. Now imagine, that that feeling stays with you for days and weeks at a time, leaving you agitated, distracted, and confused because you brain won't turn off the stress, and you relive it over and over again. That's anxiety.

One of the things I've learned about middle age is that you start to think more about self preservation. When I was younger, and perhaps stronger, I willed my way through the depression and anxiety. In fact, before the thyroid disease, I'm pretty sure that exposure to constant stress exaserbated the anxiety. It was not a good way to live. I used a lot of energy just "dealing with it," and It was exhausting.

Now, that energy for me is a bit of a finite thing, I've learned to not be wasteful with the energy I have. It's changed my life. First, I extracted a lot of the stress I had before. It needed to be done, because it was literally making me sick. I started having high blood pressure, which is hereditary, but steps could be taken to lower it. For me, besides diet and excercise, which I'm working at, eliminating as much stress as possible proved to be a great strategy. I now avoid people and situations that cause me stress. And when that's not possible and that cycle begins in my brain, causing me to live it over and over again, I take medication that makes it stop, so I don't have to spend my energy for days or weeks "dealing with it." I also use a daily antidepressant, that helps me deal with the highs and lows that I go through from the thyroid disease. 

The result is I can now live a "normal," happy life. I'm not battling every day to overcome feelings of stress and anxiety. I'm doing things I enjoy and slowly but surely finding the lovely life I want. 

What prompted this entry was a recent experience I had at the pharmacy when getting a refill of my anxiety meds. I said something along the lines of being stressed and without medication and how that's a bad combo for me, and the pharmacy tech made a flippant reply of "or you could try to go without them and just deal with it." 

First, I was shocked that a health care provider could be so callouse. I doubt she would say the same thing about my thyroid medication. But then, after I was able to think about it, I realized, she doesn't get it. She doesn't get that dealing with it is not a short and easy process when your brain won't let it go. She doesn't understand that my current condition is the result of years of "just dealing with it," and it wore me down and robbed me of the person I truly am. She doesn't get that mental illness leads to physical illness, and that taking medication is dealing with it, just like making major life changes is dealing with it, and eating better is dealing with it, and avoiding stressful people and situations is dealing with it. 

I've come a long way dealing with it. And I admit, I still have hard days, but now they are just hard days, not weeks or months at a time, because I've taken a lot of steps and made a lot of effort to deal with it in a thoughtful and effective way. 

Reading On The Wagon

I'm reading again. After years of undergrad and graduate school, I had kind of given it up save Harry Potter and Hunger Games. I even let my New Yorker subscription lapse. But, through a social media meme, I got back into it, accepting a challenge to read 50 books this year, and I even started about 4 weeks late. I'm not actually pressuring myself to make that number, but I am reading one book after the other, and enjoying it emensely. As a result I'm watching less video, and wanting to read more.

I'm also on the wagon. I'm not really a regular drinker, at least I'm not a regular drunk. It's not uncommon for me to have a glass of wine on the way home on the boat. But recently, I overdid it in a big way, and decided that my body does not appreciate such things. The prudent thing to do is give it up for a while. I could say I'm giving it up for lent, but it's really more out of self preservation than self deprevation.

I'm always about self evolution. And while these two actions aren't exactly evolving, it is about readapting myself to a different phase of life. I'm not scared to admit that I'm middle aged, but it doesn't necessarily have to be all down hill from here. I'm just learning to appreciate all that I have and to not waste time, energy or resources on things that don't contribute to a better life. 

 

I'm Back

It's true. I'm back. I just flew in from a week in Canada, but that's not what this is about.

I'm back on the boat. At the time of this writing I'm gliding across a calm San Pablo Bay that's swollen with rain run off and associated debris from a recent storm. It's a comfortable place for me. But that's not what this is about.

I'm heading back to work on the boats. After four months as a line cook, I decided that the pace was too frenetic, the work environment too frustrating and the money not adequately enough to continue. I was losing about $100 a week working there. So I'm back on the ferry, where my communion with nature is accompanied by the low rumble of a boats engine. But that's not what this is about.

Anyone who knows me, knows I'm not a big shopper. I like to get by with what I have on hand. But I realized that maybe I'd gone too far with this line of thought. I decided that it's ok to have a few things I enjoy and want, that go beyond just meeting my most basic needs. Armed with a strong American dollar and an exceptionally favorable exchange rate, I decided to do a little shopping in Canada. I bought things I'd been putting off for some time, and a small pile of second hand clothes that actually have color and personality. Once I unpack these finds and hang them in my closet, the primary color in my closet will no longer be black.

As I tried these new to me garments on, I saw a side of my personality I hadn't seen in quite some time. I remembered, how truly vivacious I once was, and how that joi de vie was also reflected in my clothes. And that's when I realized, I'm back. I've come out on the other side of a very dark place to a place where I can hope, and love, and dream of life's possibilities. I've arrived at a place where I'm comfortable and feel love and respect on a regular basis. I'm back. I'm back to being me, not a lost soul trying to survive turmoil, adversity, drama and unnecessary struggles. For me, right now at least, life is not that hard. I'm lucky to have love, and support and security and kindness in my life. I'm back, to a place I want to be. It's not perfect. There are holes, but overall, life is good, and I'm happy to be here.

The Communication Age

In a lot of ways, I think I knew this was coming. 

Communication has almost always been a passion for me. I wanted an easier way to write, and we got word processors. I wanted to be able to reach out to people, we got email. Social media feigns connectedness but also provides a platform for us to share real thoughts and considerations about the news of the day. Yes, this is a bit of a love affair between myself and technology.

What can I say. I enjoy a world where I can randomly chat with a friend online where we come up with schemes that involve more people with our shared interest. I like that when I talk to a business person on the phone, I can pull up an email to reference a previous conversation or find something as simple as a phone number, by just tapping a screen. It's as though all the abilities for accessing information I ever wished for are now at full and evolving fruition. How lucky are we?

I realize, that maybe this accolade is over the top, but I remember the time before we had such things. I remember manual typewriters and the coveted erasable typing paper. I remember phone books and yellow pages, and when day planners were the cutting edge of organization. I remember Xerox copied flyers, appointment books, Rolodex, and doing things in triplicate. Those things were real to me. 

And now we have electronic signatures, PayPal, PDF, and countless mobile apps to help us do all the things we use to do manually. We pay bills, order goods, plan our lives via screen and tactile input. It's a long way we've come in a short time. This new, ever evolving norm has changed how we do business, how we connect, how we respond to one another.

 It's also changed how we understand. And with so many words and messages flying back and forth through air and across wires, they start to lose meaning, and we start to lose understanding of the power of words and images, and the greater story that's told. What are we as a people if we cannot rely upon our own stories? It's the new quandary of our age.

Alternative to What?

So apparently I live an alternative lifestyle. I had no clue. I just kinda do me.

So, yeah, I don't have a regular 9 to 5 type of gig, and occasionally step outside my box to try something new, like cooking, but I do work, a lot. I just decided not to let my job define me. I like trying new things, and have a great safety net job that allows me to do just that.  I appreciate the freedom my work choices give me. What's so alternative about making decisions based on having a good life? I'd rather live a good life, that's interesting, comfortable, and adventuresome.

And, I don't live in an alternative space such as a wharehouse or a tiny home, but my childhood home has been gradually converted to reflect the lives of the Morales girls. We use power tools to make the space work for us, and I admittedly have grandiose plans for the kitchen and back yard. Chickens will be a thing this year. So looking forward to fresh eggs.

Like many Americans, I buy things on Amazon, but admit, that retail is not my first choice for most purchases. In general, I keep a thrift store list for durable goods, and do my best to make due with what I have on hand. And in truth, the things I get on Amazon are usually purchased there to avoid going to malls or shopping centers. But it's all part of a frugality regiment. I like saving money, and would rather have savings than expensive things. Is that so strange?

And, I like to eat good food, which translates into making a majority of my food from scratch. Processed stuff makes me sick, and it's cheaper and healthier to make your own. I still buy bread, but am looking to buy loaf pans for sandwhich bread. Also, having worked in kitchens from time to time, I know how easy it can be. Eating well is essential to well being from my perspective.

It's true, my life is not status quo. My goals are different than the standard American Dream. I've curated a vision of the life I want, and slowly but surely I am achieving it. I don't want all the things. I don't want status. I don't want bling. I don't want more debt.

I do want to live well, have as little stress as possible, go on adventures, spend time with loved ones, and to not spend my later years wishing I had I done more. If this is an alternative lifestyle, so be it. The other options just aren't that appealing to me.

Another Week in the Kitchen

Well, I've survived another week in the kitchen. It was a bit of an effort. Holiday season means busier nights and large groups of friends who meet up for an annual gift exchange. There are office gatherings, shoppers and also groups of tourists who continue to stream in on cruise ships. People want to eat. I'm there five nights a week to facilitate that.

I'm starting to feel competent in the kitchen. I've mastered things that previously eluded me, like frying chicken and boiling eggs properly. I know it sounds funny for a now professional cook to be excited about these things, but being able to do it correctly with consistency is a matter of pride. I know how to cook a perfectly boiled egg now, so it's absolutely creamy when you bite into it. I can also fry chicken drummettes that results in a hot juicy explosion when you bite into them. These things matter if you enjoy food the way I do. I like food that's an experience, and like sharing that experience with others.

I started thinking about why I like to cook so much tonight as I was chopping Brussel sprouts. First I cut off the end of the sprout and then cut it in half. My muscle memory has improved to the point that I can glance around while I do this, and not cut my fingers. I look up and see a vintage street car whiz by on the Embarcaderro. I watch one of the regulars greet his meal with an appreciation that comes from familiarity, and realized how much I'm enjoying this familiarity myself.

I thought about how I enjoy working with food. How it is so multifaceted. Working in a restaurant is very physical work, but also requires technique. It requires patience, waiting for fries to fry is the worst, but also immediacy, salt those fuckers and get me out. You have to plan your movements and the steps it takes to prepare, sometimes multiple dishes, at the same time, thinking through the best method to get it done as you are doing it. 

Cooking is also creative. Not only do you create a presentation, but sometimes you can tell a story with how you put a salad on a plate. Most of the time you just want to get it out and move onto the next order in an effort to keep up with the expiditer. But these other things do cross my mind.

Am I romanticize the process? Of course I am. And maybe that comes from the satisfaction I'm getting from this work. All I know is that I like what I'm doing, and love it when I'm doing it right.

The Dinner Shift

I've moved up in the restaurant world to start working the dinner shift. About a month ago, the Chef told me I'd be working nights. I took it as a good sign. Now, instead of waking up at OMG o'clock, I sleep in every day. It's lovely, and by far the best perk of the job. I almost feel like a woman of leisure. 

But the work is a bit harder, faster, more complex, and I finally feel as though I'm getting up to par. I now split my time between two positions. One position does the salads, appetizers and desserts, the other does the fryer and expedites the pantry side of the line. The latter is a bit more complex. Both require immediate reaction, muscle memory and complete focus. There's no time to daydream, or really ponder anything. An order comes in and I have to know how to deal with it. That means either waiting for the rest of the order to be ready before I fire (begin) my part, giving it to the other pantry cook, or firing it right away. All the while I have to keep watch of other orders that may be in various states of process, and keep track of other orders coming in. Sound confusing? It kinda is, but when I get in the zone of making it all happen, it's a pretty great feeling. 

Working fryer has its drawbacks though. For one, I smell like fryer grease by the end of the night. I also have multiple burns on my arms, and the tips of my fingers are becoming calloused from plating hot fries that just came out of 375F oil. When I'm not on the Fryer, I come home smelling like salad dressing. 

And then there's the transport costs of driving into work, which are considerable. I pay two tolls and for 3 hours of meter parking plus gas. I could in theory take Bart, but the cost would be about the same and the commute would take at least an hour more, each way...so not worth it. 

I like what I'm doing. Last night I was clearly in the zone and it was both fulfilling and fun. And somehow, working at night feels less like a job. The shift goes by pretty fast when we're busy, and I generally don't have a problem getting to sleep at night. I also feel like I've turned a corner in this whole process of becoming a cook. I've noticed I'm not as sore as I use to be. My knees and ankles seem to have adjusted to the physicality of the work. I feel well liked in the kitchen and appreciated for my contributions. It's a good feeling.

Life 3.0 is a Go! I'm liking this choice more and more. 

Shit Show, It's Contagious

What is a shit show you ask? It's when the shit is always hitting the fan, an excess of drama and bullshit that some people put out in the world, making everything around them a "shit show."

I do my best to avoid this kind of crap, but sometimes it creeps up on me. When it does, it's a lot harder than you might think to not become part of the shit show yourself. Because you see, shit shows are like tornados. They pick up everything in their path and deposit them willienillie. And suddenly, for no reason you can't, or don't function in the normal way because you're so busy reacting to all the shit thrown your way. You can't concentrate, things get lost, you forget things and make lots of simple mistakes because you are unable to pay attention to details when all you're doing is dealing with the shit that's constantly thrown at you, hitting you and mucking up your path.

So what does one do when in a shit storm? Cover up the best we can in protective clothing? Pretend it doesn't bother you? Fight through it to do what you've got to do while saying to yourself, "I'm so tired of this shit!" It's hard to say what the best response is. 

With some people it's easy to say, "stop, lets regroup." But others are really committed to their bullshit and are going to cling to it like their life depends on it. And then there's the stealth bullshit too, that comes from those who make a show of being put together, but are really just flinging shit.

Honestly, for me, I try to distance myself as much as possible from all the shit. It's like I use to tell my kids, "no stupid." Don't do stupid things, don't hang out with stupid people. I think the same rule applies to bullshit and correlating shit show.

Avoidance is possibly the only solution.

Foresight

I I think I've come to the age of foresight. I think about my future a lot more than I use to.

When I was younger I never worried about what was to come. I knew I had time to do it all over again. I had an infinite number of restarts and do-overs. While I don't fear restarts or do-overs, I don't waste such efforts carelessly. 

I feel as though I'm gaining strength back, physical, mental and emotional. After years of stress from my relationship and work, I thought I just couldn't deal anymore. Now, working in what many consider a high stress job, I seem to be doing fine. I just needed a time out to reset and do-over.

And that brings me back to foresight. In my 20's I just wanted to get to my apex. I climbed, I struggled, I fought my way up a mountain of achievement. (I know, that's a lot of metaphors, even for me.) in my 30s I was mired by my own expectations of achievement as well as the expectations of others. I had a reputation of doing the impossible, but those feats came at a cost. I would ruin myself to make shit happen. 

Now, in my 40's maybe I know better. I pace myself. I set better expectations for myself and I'm much more forgiving for my own failures. In fact, while I don't strive for failure, I embrace it when it happens. I know there's a lesson to be learned. Maybe this is the beginning of wisdom. 

If it is the beginning of wisdom, then I hope it serves me well. I believe it will. And maybe that's the value of foresight, being able to see what good that failures can produce.