So, I've been reading Leo Buscaglia's Living, Loving & Learning-- a book I recall my dad having read when I was younger. It's also a book that he and I talked about at some point. I don't remember buying this copy, but I know I've flipped through it from time to time since then. It's one of the few books I actually brought with me to San Frank. And I hadn't quite gotten to reading it until just recently. I think I've been reading it for about a week and a half. . .just before the time I had this important talk with Peter. (i've been deliberate about reading it, but will read it for a while in the morning, a bit on the bus and just before i go to sleep. i did this, so that what i've been reading settles in and i can truly think about it.)
Things happen for a reason, I do believe. I can't say what drew me to this book at this moment, but it's definitely come at a time when I need to think about my life, my life's goals, and how I see myself working towards them.
These thoughts have been brewing for some time and I am finally able to place them before myself and anyone else who passes this way.
Like a meal, I have been preparing these thoughts with patience and attention to details. I have also placed myself with love within them. I may have had to alter some things because I don't have the exact ingredient or amount, but that makes them unique.
I want my life, my cooking, this skill I have acquired to be utilized in a way that helps others. I want it to make a difference in the world--to be connected to change that helps others in their lives.
As much as I have enjoyed the kitchens I have worked in throughout my culinary training and now here in San Frank, I know that I can not continue on this path. What good is it to be able to cook such a fine meal when the people who are my friends, my family and colleagues can not afford to eat this way on a regular basis? I realize that fine dining or even just dining out is a treat and something that our culture seeks. I seek it out too. I enjoy it. However, I continue to find myself thinking and asking these thoughts and questions. What good does my meal do for people when others are without or in need? What good can I be a part of with my cooking? How can others in need be a part of this meal?
I'm not sure where this is going to take me, but I don't feel that I can continue this kind of cooking. Granted, I am going to keep this job and save some money and then make a move.
I can only believe that I can be a cook and still help to make a difference in this world.
I think part of my angst about this is that so much of what I do can not be shared . . .or rather that I am unable to connect with those people for whom I am cooking. Sure, I'm lucky in that in this restaurant, the kitchen is open and viewable to the public, however, I want more than a random encounter or someone saying Thank You for the meal. Though I do enjoy those--I love to hear people say "ohhh" when they see my cake plating and eat it. But I believe that there can be deeper meaning in cooking.
But I want the meal I prepare to be shared. shared.
I look back at what my life has been, how i have lived it and this is not new or news to me.
My Mom continues to do volunteer work with the church and touches the lives of the needy, and my Dad, while he may not see it this way, continues to touch the lives of several young boys who grow up to be men by being their baseball coach. Being a part of a community is not new to me. . . or rather the desire to be part of a community. . .to want to be a part of it and make a difference.
And this book by Leo Buscaglia came at the time when I was settling down with these thoughts. I'm not saying that I'm done thinking, but I have decided to place them outside of my head. He talks about living life. . . about loving yourself and being part of a "we" and "us". . . he talks about this when it comes to relationships and while some may take that only to be "romantic" relationships, I believe he means all life's relationships. As much as I can do something that makes me happy, and I will do something because I want to do, I also feel that we are responsible for sharing our skills in life in order to make it a better place. If we all shared our talents with others then think how wonderful that would be.
"We're afraid of living life, therefore, we don't experience, we don't see. We don't feel. We don't risk! We don't care! And therefore we don't live--because life means being actively involved. Life means getting your hands dirty. Life means jumping in the middle of it all. Life means falling flat on your face. Life means going beyond yourself--into the stars!"
"But you must decide yourself, for yourself. 'What does life mean to me?' I'm convinced if we spent as much time, no one quarter as much time each day thinking about life and living and loving as we do planning a meal, we'd be incredible!"----Leo Buscaglia wrote this for his speech titled "Choose Life." I think it's wonderful, especially since he makes a comment and for me a connection to cooking that I hope to change---in that by planning and cooking a meal I am also thinking about life and living and loving for others. And I don't just mean those customers in the restaurant.
Where is this taking me? I don't know. But I'm glad I've got it out of my head--now I just have to get in back in my body and live it.
Oh, I did mention that I began reading this book before Peter and I had our discussion about getting back together. And I started reading about loving and being a lover of life. I'm not sure exactly when this changed for me. I just know that I've come to truly care for him and whatever it is that he and I become, that we will be able to remain our own unique selves and create something wonderful as well. The book allowed me to have insight as to why I care for him. He loves life in its many splendored ways. I am not afraid to be honest with him, which is surprisingly, something I didn't have before in other relationships. what now?
music: k.d. lang's "ingenue" album. . . it's been on repeat and it's taken me a while to actually right this whole thing
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